


Limited Omnipotence

by sophiealicemay



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, Spoilers, Trauma, Xenoblade Chronicles Spoilers, like a lot of it, please finish the game before reading this, seriously shulk's family love him, thats it thats the plot, they go through a war guys, you'll really hate yourself if you don't, zanza shows up like 5 years early and fucks everything up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-01-29 18:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21414532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiealicemay/pseuds/sophiealicemay
Summary: Becoming a teenager sucks. Puberty, typically, is an open-shut case- your beautiful, darling child morphs into a horrifying  nightmare spawn completely overnight, and it lasts a few long, dreadful years but usually mellows them out by the end of it.Apparently puberty looked down on a young, naïve Shulk and decided that in addition to everything else he could handle a stinking heap of extra baggage.Zanza. An obnoxious voice in his head that claimed to be an all-powerful, all-knowing God- yet was hopelessly bound to the body of a thirteen year-old-boy. It wasn’t like it wasallbad- Zanza seemed to be somewhat forthcoming on information about the Monado, the divine weapon that had Shulk completely and utterly enamoured. Maybe, if he endured through it... it would be worth it in the end?Or alternatively: Zanza awakens in Shulk about five years too early.
Comments: 36
Kudos: 125





	1. vegetative overlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dickson treks up the blisteringly icy Valak Mountain to rescue Zanza's new host, a little child called Shulk which he unfortunately has to now raise. He unwittingly discovers, maybe due to not being a Homs or a caring person, he's not very good at it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello there~
> 
> yes this is a new chapter, but it's not the fabled chapter five- it's really the new chapter one. sorry for any confusion. don't get me wrong though- it's completely new content! this takes place before the game, before my previous chapter one actually. hopefully it adds more context to the fic. think of it as a prologue-ish, though i'm calling it chapter one because i can.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

_Chapter One - vegetative overlord_

Dunban had been exceedingly adamant with Dickson that his one-man rescue of the Monado expedition team was an incredibly bad idea. Said it was _too dangerous_ for one man to go at alone and more akin to a suicide mission and that he strictly _would not allow it_.

He was so adamant in fact, that he had even enlisted Mumkhar as his dastardly accomplice to prevent him from leaving the colony and concocted a childish scheme Dickson hadn’t expected to work coming from two immature teenagers.

Dunban masterminded having Mumkhar distract their mentor with cupcakes of all things – which he found rather difficult to refuse upfront, and then quite literally hiding Dickson’s snow gear in his younger sister Fiora’s bedroom and asking her not to give it to him when he asked. He was ashamed to admit how well it worked on him.

Dickson never listened to Dunban, of course, he had a very important mission to accomplish. One he had waited several centuries to complete and was not in the mood for his 16-year-old student with a hero-complex to choose now of all times suddenly start worrying about him. Dunban might be smart for a brat but Dickson still had years of experience on him. Not even the deadliest blizzards on Valak Mountain could kill him. He knew; he’d lived up there once upon a time.

Such times, however, were past and no longer were giants of his magnificent calibre accepted as a race of the Bionis. If someone ever saw him, they’d usually scream in fear and run away or begin attacking him with reckless abandon. He always enjoyed swatting the little Homs like flies when they did.

Nowadays he had to stick with a measly Homs body to get around, and it didn’t take long for its physical limitations to begin to actively harass him. Like the constant need for sleep and a specific diet of nutrients that if he didn’t stick to would render him immobile perched over a toilet basin puking his guts out. He could no longer consume ether crystals, he’d unwittingly discovered.

Hom’s bodies also couldn’t venture through an icy tundra in their pyjamas like he once had, though he was seriously considering it as an alternative to bartering with Dunban’s boisterous four-year-old sister.

He’d managed to get his equipment off her in the end, though it took numerous bribes of all assortments of different sweets and even then it eventually came down to _vegetables _that got her to budge, though she did eye him warily and tell him to be careful. How a four year old with such a limited viewpoint on the world was aware of what he was going to do would be forever beyond him.

An unexpected bonus to this was that Fiora proceeded to then distract Dunban for him, by accidentally almost burning down their home in a ridiculous attempt to cook with the vegetables she had gotten, which he swiftly took advantage of to slip out of the colony and make his way up north.

The journey had been long and boring, made even worse when Lorithia swooped down, riding a horned Telethia like it was some sort of pet (and to her it probably was) and mocked him for whatever petty reasons she had for keeping up their very one-sided rivalry.

He managed to ignore her all the way up until they reached the Bionis’ shoulder when Alvis arrived with that freaky teleportation trick Dickson wishes he had, and informed him about the political state of the High Entia since Lorithia apparently viewed herself too entitled to do so.

He parted ways with the pair, marginally irater than he had been and wrapped his stupid frail body up in about nineteen layers of Armu hide with interwoven Flamii feathers, ready to brave the blizzard.

Unsurprisingly, it had been cold and wet and gross and Dickson was dreading the inevitable trek back so much he was debating just camping out on the Bionis’ shoulder for the remainder of his days. Until he happened upon the tower.

A few centuries ago, his master’s soul had been confined to his divine blade and sealed away in this oversized igloo, with the intention of never being awoken again. Dickson had made _very sure_ that the rumours of Zanza being too power hungry and evil had died with his race and were _not_ carried down to his successors.

After very unsubtly introducing the tale of the Monado and deftly weaving it into the mainstay of the colonies in which the Homs built their lives, it came as no surprise to him that sooner or later people would go out to try and find it. Especially after Egil finally decided to make his move and attack the Bionis with a plague of soulless machines.

Hauling open the large black doors was surprisingly easier than it should have been, and the reason why was presented to him as six or so frozen corpses that were strewn about the tower’s innards, proportioned in a janky line toward where the Monado shone brightly in its pedestal.

Underneath the sword, lay the seventh adventurer – a small boy who couldn’t have been older than five. As Dickson leaned in closer to the Homs, his grin involuntarily widened as he noticed the visible puffs of breath that were coming from the very alive boy’s shivering body.

After all these centuries of painful waiting, it had begun. The fated awakening of his Lord would finally bring about the ceremony of destruction and recreation, and this child would be the catalyst. He couldn’t wait.

Although, he looked around him dismally at what he assumed to be the remains of the boy’s parents, he supposed he was going to have to raise the boy himself.

“What a hassle,” he murmured to himself as he slung the Monado on his back, plucked the child off the floor and turned around. If Lorithia and Alvis weren’t waiting for him on the shoulder he was going to leave without telling them the news. They’d figure it out eventually.

Kicking the boy’s dead father out of spite, he sauntered out of the door and back into the blistering cold.

* * *

Shulk _despised _vegetables. Not only did they _look_ incredibly unappealing, but they also managed to taste far worse than you’d think for something that sprouted from the dirt. Nevertheless he was forced to accept at the meagre age of six that they were a valuable aspect to one’s diet – lest he suffer Fiora’s wrath.

Of course, that didn’t mean he actually had to _eat _them. He was pretty crafty for his age, in how he managed to smuggle the green monstrosities off of his plate and fake chewing to fool his guardian Dickson into believing he’d swallowed them.

After which he would flush them down the toilet, because then they could never be retrieved.

Unfortunately, this strategy only lasted until his next birthday, when Dickson, his favourite student Dunban and younger sister Fiora who was about the same age as he was all squeezed around their small table to celebrate, tucking heartily into a marvellous roast that apparently Fiora and Dunban had worked very hard on together.

The meat had been as delicious as always, but there had been a few demonic shrubs on his plate and regrettably the ever-perceptive Dunban had noticed Shulk slyly pocketing his broccoli in preparation to send them off to their watery doom.

Both Fiora _and _Dunban had scolded him harshly and launched into a joint sermon on the true power of vegetables (which made them sound more like a weapon than a food) then forced him to stuff every last morsel in his mouth until was green in the face and Dickson could no longer muffle his laughter into his elbow.

In a helpless bid to forget the harrowing lecture and subsequent punishment, Shulk was perfectly content to keep secretly drowning his vegetables in sewage, until a few days later in school when Dunban had practically stormed through the auditorium doors where they all ate lunch, dragging a very disgruntled looking Dickson behind him by the ear and had a very long chat with the dinner lady about the quality of the canteen food.

Next thing Shulk knew they were being subjected to mandatory classes on healthy diets and his lunches were filled to the brim with vegetables and fruits. It was _horrifying,_ Shulk couldn’t even continue his little ritual of disposing of them as Dunban also seemed to have employed Fiora to constantly spy on him at lunch to ensure he ate them all.

Shulk refused to admit that his overall health and mood had improved after. That would be just submitting to the tyrannical vegetable overlords and it was just not in his nature to lay down and die in vain when challenged.

If there were to be any semblance of good that came from the new rules, it would be the events that occurred three weeks after his permanently trauma-inducing birthday. The school lunch _healthy recipe of the day_ was cool potato salad infested with mayonnaise and a freshly picked dance apple – the latter of which he didn’t mind as much, though still a phrase that made Shulk feel a rush of cold nausea from solely hearing it. Fiora tucked into her abomination with an evil smile and sharp eyes while Shulk nibbled at his apple sadly, flicking a piece of potato around with his fork.

Then, the boy on his other side leaned over and murmured to him. “Hey, do you want my apple instead? I’ll trade for your salad if you don’t want it.”

Shulk turned curiously to his neighbour, a larger built boy with unruly auburn hair. Shulk vaguely remembered him to be Reyn, the tallest boy in his class who had complained rather vociferously at the advent of the new nutritious diet that was being enforced upon them.

Perhaps Shulk had found a kindred spirit in his war upon healthy foods.

“Why would you want _this_,” Shulk wrinkled his nose and pushed his tray away towards the boy, ignoring Fiora’s indignant squeak. “It’s just root vegetables and leaves covered in mayonnaise.”

“Yeah well its better than this,” Reyn glared at the apple like he could set it alight with his eyeballs, “I can’t stand fruit it makes me feel sick. Vegetables are okay though, I like potatoes.”

Fiora, who almost imploded watching their exchange had tried to frantically reason with the pair, but nothing could stop the wheels of fate as they began to turn, or so Dickson had once mystically said, and fate prevented him from suffering through fourth period feeling gross and nauseous so it was alright in his book.

And that was the day, Shulk unequivocally met Reyn.

After an inelegant start, the two found mutual solace in their loathing of pretty much anything healthy, and would covertly swap around their meals whenever they had a chance and Fiora wasn’t breathing heavily down their necks.

In avoiding her, the duo began to hang out together a lot more, a beautiful friendship quickly blossomed from a further combined fascination in weaponry, though for Shulk it was more their construction that interested him and Reyn just liked beating things up.

Fiora, despite being a girl, much preferred playing rough with them than enduring dress-up or house with the other girls and decided putting up with Reyn was worth it if she could play with Shulk – who had been her only real friend for two years. And she was fun, Shulk liked her a lot, even if Reyn was a little cynical at first.

Even at six years old, Shulk had already manifested his introverted side, and often chose to trail after his busy father-figure to his workplace, where he slaved away over various weapons and the like to utilise in the fight against the dreaded Mechon.

* * *

Dickson almost jumped out of his skin when one day he turned around to see the little heir he was raising, leading Dunban’s sister and another boy around the lab like he knew where he was headed (which he definitely shouldn’t have because children weren’t even _allowed_ in the lab) and they were all oohing and ahhing at various old scrapped concepts Dickson had all but given up on trying to construct.

He threw them out, of course, but just like the tenacious, curious children with no self-preservation instincts that they were, just kept crawling back and incessantly fiddling with his machines, especially Shulk who seemed to sporadically pop up out of nowhere every once in a while, either salivating over a piece of metal or head stuck in a book.

He would have gotten mad, but Shulk turned out to be a little tinker and actually ended up modifying his rejected weaponry models in ways the giant had never even considered. The light that shone in the little blond’s eyes when Dickson eventually caved and belayed how the blueprints worked made him very uncomfortable.

That was right around the time Shulk began getting sick.

Initially, Dickson had barely noticed anything was wrong, writing off the occasional headache or dizzy spell as a by-product of the vessel’s frequently occurring late-night camp-outs he spent obsessively fiddling with worn Mechon scrap or pouring over old weapon prototypes that he forgot to sleep. Dickson didn’t care, as long as the child matured into an adult and had enough body mass to suitably sustain his Lord’s reawakening, the kid could do whatever he wanted as long as it didn’t get him killed.

In hindsight, he probably should have known rearing something so integral to their universe _in disguise_, wouldn’t an easy virtue – so that when the kid full on fainted and later relapsed into a near-coma whilst playing with those two friends of his, it wouldn’t have been such an assault on his nerves.

In one of his rarer moments where he was at home relaxing instead of withering under a mass of tedium besieged work, he leapt out of his skin for a _second _time in two weeks when his door rattled open to reveal a bleary eyed redhead and Dunban’s weeping sister, both in the throes of hysteria.

The taller brat was clutching Shulk closely to his chest as he wobbled into Dickson’s living room, blubbering incoherently when Dickson demanded to know what was wrong. Eventually, he managed to weasel out of the pair that Shulk had collapsed without warning and scraped his knee on the dirt – the part of their story that both of them seemed much more upset about than the fact that no matter how hard they shook him, he wouldn’t wake up.

Dickson wrestled the kid out of his friend’s grabby hands, barking orders at the other brats to go and get Dunban or someone who could assist.

Shulk wasn’t dead, thank Zanza. He was breathing, although judging from the disturbingly coarse noises coming from his throat, it was very laboured. Covered in a sheen of sweat, his body was quaking violently in a way that reminded Dickson of when he’d first found the boy, at which point he’d been stranded in wintry temperatures breaching zero had also been _possessed by a god_. So, only a _minor_ cause for worry.

Dickson had frowned, unsure of how to proceed, only able to give a full-body check-up facilitated by Dunban, who had come barrelling through the door at speeds rivalling Mach twelve, face a ghastly picture for the eyes.

Apparently, he’d bunked off defence force training in an unbecoming panic to help Shulk, an action that thoroughly baffled Dickson. The newly minted Lieutenant Colonel, a loud brash and rather unpleasant man named Vangarre who preferred to batter his soldiers first then verbally oppress them later, had assumed the position as Dunban’s new mentor and would surely give him hell later when he found out.

Neither of the pair were able to figure out the problem, and when Shulk started marinating in a pool of his own bodily fluids because of how much he was sweating, Dunban’s patience snapped and he towed the boy to the hospital, much to Dickson’s chagrin. He hated hospitals.

It had been twenty arduous minutes of hearing the two whiny children and an equally whiny eighteen-year-old adult fret over the uncertain fate of the blond boy, when the doctor shuffled out into the corridor to declare the verdict.

Shulk was suffering a rare condition called severe ether deficiency, which, when Dickson sat and thought about it, actually made a lot of sense considering there was a divine being coinhabiting Shulk’s body; likely feeding off of the kid’s small, infantile reserves to sustain itself. Dickson made the executive decision not to share this with the group.

The medical professionals wracked their brains on the issue, but naturally they couldn’t find a cause – so when Shulk finally woke up after being poked half to death by needles, they surmised the best way to keep him afloat was medication.

A long, _long _list of liquids and pills was thrust into Dickson’s hands, and scanning through it got infinitely harder when the words began to blur as the mantra of ‘its all for Lord Zanza’s return’ got louder and louder in incongruence with his patience.

The second the doctors allowed visitors, Dunban, Fiora and the other kid who was named Reyn apparently, all hustled into Shulk’s room and crowded around the kid, who looked very frazzled at all the attention.

Dickson reasoned it would probably be considered rude to just leave, so he stood languidly at the back of the room and drearily observed what was truly the height of idiocy amongst the Homs species; goddamn _emotions._

“Shulk!” Fiora had wailed and wrapped her trembling arms around the kid’s lithe frame, not caring about the amalgamation of tubes that got in her way, “I'm so glad you’re okay! We really thought we’d lost you!”

“Yeah man,” Reyn sniffled with a droopy smile and folded his arms in a useless effort to not look as worried as he had definitely been a few hours earlier, “you scared the hell out of us when you just dropped like that and wouldn’t wake up.”

Shulk just simpered and rubbed his neck in embarrassment, wincing a little from the IV stuck in his wrist. “Um, sorry guys I really didn’t mean to worry you or anything. Thanks for um, helping me out.”

“Not at all,” Dunban’s face barely divulged his feelings, but the relieved tone in his voice betrayed his gratitude for the boy’s recovery. “Just, whenever you are feeling unwell like this again, make sure you tell somebody like me or Dickson. Don’t shoulder a burden like this on your own alright? We all care for you very deeply Shulk and are here to help.”

Dickson nodded dumbly, because he’d probably be lynched if he didn’t, and Shulk’s eyes began to shimmer.

“Thank you,” Shulk whispered and rubbed his eyes on his collarbone sleepily, “I… yeah. I’ll tell you when I'm not feeling very well, is that okay?”

* * *

When the four were impolitely ushered out of the room by the incensed nurse, Dunban looked wearily over at Dickson, who was gazing at Shulk in a way he couldn’t hope to decipher. Dunban had nothing but the utmost respect for his former mentor; his only son had just suddenly and unexplainedly fallen into what had seemed to be a deep coma – Dunban wasn’t even his _parent_ and he’d been completely freaking out but Dickson stayed masterfully calm throughout the whole ordeal.

He had been completely collected, not once acting irrationally out of fear – and he’d been able to calm Dunban when he’d frenzied himself into a state of panic. He had been shaking a little though, when they’d been allowed to see Shulk again, and hadn't even spoken to his son – but Dunban assumed it was due to the intense relief of seeing he was okay.

As they meandered towards the hospital exit, Fiora clinging tightly to his legs and the other kid Reyn scuffing his shoes on the tile moodily, Dunban turned to Dickson with the full intent of picking his brain now the initial shock seemed to have worn off. He noticed how set the blond man’s jaw was and hoped he wouldn’t accidentally cross the line with his inquiry.

“Dickson,” Dunban began, “I commend you for how calm you were able to stay in such daunting circumstances.”

Dickson just grunted and didn’t say anything.

“You kept a cool head and commanded us well enough. Of course, this isn’t the battlefield,” Dickson would have been blind not to see the way Dunban shifted with discomfort. “Yet you reminded me of how even then you stay calm in the face of adversity.”

Fiora peered out from Dunban’s legs to smile at Dickson. “What he’s trying to say is thank you.”

Dunban started, then spun around to half-heartedly chide Fiora, though a big grin had broken on his face. Dickson just raised his eyebrows.

He had _seen, _witnessed with his own two eyes the sheer panic, and worry and stress that all three of them had gone through when Shulk had fainted. Because they _care_, a meagre part of him bleated back and he glared at nothing at the revelation.

They were Homs, they were emotional and weak and cared about other Homs enough to worry themselves silly over them, over the stress of not knowing if they’d see the other again or not.

Dickson had never been subjected to such miserable sentiments before, the only real thing he would consider he cared about was his Lord Zanza – or rather the inevitable _return_ of his Lord. He had never sat and pondered the reasons, or if ‘care’ was even the right word to use, since it implied Dickson had emotions other than bloodlust and the thought made him mildly nauseous.

Still, the others cared. Inadvertently, they cared for his Lord Zanza. It made him think, of course, Shulk was mortal. His Lord wouldn’t perish if Shulk died prematurely… would he? No that was daft but… it might considerably lengthen his return.

Dickson felt the sudden urge to check on the vessel, and he stopped head in his tracks. Dunban looked at him wistfully and Fiora kicked Reyn who moodily glared back at her.

“M’ gonna go check on Shulk,” Dickson said almost monotonously and turned around, robotic in his movements back down the corridor. Dunban just smiled and ushered the now squabbling children away.

Shulk had been relaxing when Dickson silently, or what he thought was silently, slid the door open. The little blond lolled his head from where he had been gazing out the window to look at Dickson, and he blinked a few times, before he looked at the nurse who frowned at Dickson.

Dickson opened his mouth but realised he had no idea what to say, and it hung open for a few seconds before he snapped it shut and meandered to Shulk’s bedside while ignoring the protests of his nurse.

“Er,” He said awkwardly, “…y’ holding up alright?”

Shulk blinked, and his face looked sheepish. “Um… yeah. I'm okay. Er, I'm sorry about all this, I didn’t mean to stress you out or… worry you or… anything.”

“S’not your fault,” damn Dickson was bad at this. “Can’t blame you for what your body decided to do.”

Never let it be said that Dickson was emotionless as he claimed. Giants weren’t monsters – they were just really freaking old and wise to the ways of the world. Or at least, so they thought.

Blinking, Shulk looked up at Dickson in wonder, and even with the tube stuffed into his nose, he managed to smile sweetly. “Thanks, Dickson. Thank you so much for looking after me, for saving me all those years ago. It really…” his voice wobbled and he averted his eyes for a moment before gently clearing his throat, “… really means a lot to me.”

Dickson’s eyes widened and something cold and dead began to stir within his chest.

“Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is intended to add more context, and because i like writing these characters in funny situations and little else. 
> 
> this chapter is new, and the next few chapters are a heavily edited and chronologically mish-mashed versions of what i had previously written. i just feel like this was a better way to introduce the characters then just relying on foreknowledge.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!


	2. aerate dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shulk is an idiot and has to deal with the repercussions of his dumb actions. It goes about as well as you’d expect. Puberty sucks, is what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good day~
> 
> this is the second part of my added prologue-ish-but-not-really. in fact, this contains part of what was originally chapter two- but the way that concluded bothered me, so i rewrote it, and decided it would be more sensical, chronologically, if it happened first.
> 
> also uh this chapter can be summed up succinctly with the word ‘dread’ but i added aerate to make it more breathable. ha. i got into university with those jokes. i guess dread can mean a lot of things, but all i really want to reiterate is that Shulk is machine smart but not people smart.
> 
> i hope you enjoy :D

_Chapter Two - aerate dread_

Shulk managed to mostly stay out of the hospital for the next few years, a revelation that sat very well with his friends and family, though various perturbing bouts of ether deficiency would rear their ugly heads every once in a while to muck up his week – though they also seemed to coincide with forgetting to take his medicine, which Dickson felt compelled to grill him about.

But other than that, he was fine. Shulk was just your average 13-year-old boy, with loving friends and demanding hobbies which more than contributed towards the acute sharpening of his intelligence; so slightly above average – Shulk was an incredibly smart boy.

He was so smart, that he began to finagle through problems the adults around had crumpled up and tossed into a corner in a rage, and this naturally led him to gravitate towards the greatest mystery that posed to the Homs. The Monado.

The Monado intrigued Shulk like nothing ever could, and he was drawn to it like it was his air supply. There was a running gag that he would somehow mould himself to the blade in order to figure out its secrets. He tried to, but either Dunban or Dickson frantically pulled him back when he got out the soldering iron because the Monado was an extraordinarily dangerous weapon after all – and also don’t solder yourself to an object. Or anything.

It was so dangerous, that whenever someone tried to use it – it quite literally killed them, or at least maimed them enough that their parents no longer recognised them when they were carted home on a stretcher. But as the legends said, it could cut through Mechon armour, and thus it was a necessary evil that in order to get it to work- some things had to be sacrificed.

Training began, numerous soldiers began to dedicate their lives towards managing the unruly blade, and to Shulk – though largely Fiora’s horror, Dunban showed by far the most aptitude.

Dunban was like Shulk’s second father. He coddled Shulk in an almost stifling yet protective way but pulled out all the stops to show he really cared. He listened to Shulk when things bothered him, but also reprimanded him with _‘little chats’_ that instilled a fear like no other, like when he accidentally stood on Fiora’s little toe and she cried for hours.

Even though Shulk adored his friends and enjoyed every second he spent with them – he usually had to be bribed every way to Sunday before he was dragged out of the lab to be with them.

He had been trying to decipher the meaning of the strange symbol that appeared in Monado’s centre when the wind was unceremoniously knocked from his lungs as he was crushed under the weight of one Reyn jumping on his back.

“Heyy Shulk,” The broader boy grinned ferociously and spun the boy around to face him, purposefully turning away from the Monado. “Have you had lunch yet?”

No, he had not had lunch yet, the swirling of stomach acid as it scaled the walls of his stomach was a painful reminder of this. Yet Shulk had a one-track-mind, once he became engrossed with his work, being _in the zone _as Dunban put it – he found it difficult or even mildly annoying to suddenly stop and have to focus on other things.

The lie died in his throat however when he saw Reyn’s pleading eyes and was then exacerbated by the further, very noisy pleading of his stomach for any type of sustenance.

Reyn smirked even wider as Shulk reddened, and Fiora came tiptoeing up from behind the pair holding a large basket with a picnic blanket protruding from the top. “That sounds like a no to me. Come on, all three of us can go to Outlook Park and eat this picnic Dunban and I made.”

Shulk’s eyes darted over to his very haphazard mental drawing of the divine blade (he was 13 okay give him some slack) and made a move to protest but was swiftly elbowed in the side by Dickson, who spat out the pencil in his mouth in order to say, “go with them. If you don’t eat you won’t have any energy to work later.”

Ouch. Dickson definitely didn’t know his own strength and the jab to his side had him almost doubling over, but nobody noticed since both of his friends rounded on his guardian like he’d declared he was transferring allegiance over to the Mechon.

“Dickson!” Fiora scolded, basket swinging and a pointed finger whipping the cigar from his lips, waving it in his face very accusatorily. “That is _not _a very healthy mindset! Shulk works far too much as it is, he needs to go out every so often for a break- I bet you weren’t even paying attention to the fact that he hadn't eaten yet today!”

Fiora definitely had no way of knowing he hadn't eaten breakfast that day. He hadn't, but that was beyond the point. The word healthy had made him break into a cold sweat and he eyed the picnic basket despairingly like a creature of the undead would slither out on all fours any second.

“She’s right man, Shulk needs to chill out more. I just joined the defence force and they have more scheduled breaks than Shulk does,” needled Reyn, which made Shulk raise his head from where he’d been slowly trying to melt into the floor.

“You joined the _what_?”

Reyn blinked, then realised what he’d said and chuckled in embarrassment, “Oh uh… that was… damn I’ve been waiting all week to tell you and everything and now I just…” He sighed and turned back to Dickson, who was looking visibly taken aback from being confronted by two kids. “My point still stands though.”

“Okay, okay,” Dickson acquiesced and reached down to pick up his tobacco from the floor, the flame having gone out as it had hit the ground, “I get it. Go on then, get out of here you brats.”

Shulk’s face broke out into a large toothy grin that had Dickson shifting uncomfortably, face pulling up into an uncertain grimace. The younger blond wriggled out of Reyn’s grip and brazenly tossed his utensils off to the side, causing Dickson to cry out indignantly and chase after the scalpel as it rolled across the floor. The other two grinned along with him and they all flounced out of the door in tune with Dickson’s exasperated complaints about ‘kids today’.

* * *

The walk to Outlook Park was short, mostly because it wasn’t a walk; the three opted to race each other like their behinds were aflame – or Shulk and Reyn did while Fiora jogged briskly whilst minding their lunch didn’t get destroyed, tutting with a knowing fondness.

Any monsters that liked to flock there weren’t really harmful unless deliberately provoked. Even then they had collective intelligence of a two-month-old baby – not smart enough to chase when their enemies fled and often ended up killing themselves anyway by flying straight into a sharp cliff face.

Shulk’s breathing was markedly heavier than Reyn’s was, the latter could now beat him by a wide berth of twenty or so seconds to their favourite spot – a fact that Shulk found bothered him more than it should. Fiora just giggled, not out of breath at all as she leisurely jogged up to where Shulk was on his knees gasping for air beside a gloating Reyn.

“You two are so silly,” she said fondly as she gracefully dropped to a kneel and spread out the blanket. Still breathless, Shulk rolled onto it and peered into the basket – not quite the vegetable apocalypse he had been expecting but it was close enough that he let the lid snap closed as he shivered involuntarily.

“So you dragged me out here to coerce me into eating and yet you pack veggie-rolls and carrot sticks with houmous,” Shulk said acidly and curled up into a ball, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “Was that code for watching me to starve to death or are they some sort of edible food in disguise?”

Reyn barked a laugh and made a beeline for the basket, pulling out the veggie-rolls with delight. Fiora crossed her arms, face pulled up into a petulant glare. “All of this food is _very _edible, nutritious and good for you Shulk. Though, if you eat enough of this, I _did _make you churned pirahnax sandwiches.”

Shulk’s face immeasurably brightened. “You did?!”

“But _only_ if you have at least two veg- _Reyn _they were supposed to be for all three of us!” Which began a tug of war between the plate of veggie-rolls.

Even though their unlikely friendship had flourished from their war on healthy foods, and Reyn still got nauseous in the presence of fruit, he’d launched full force into a healthy eating kick a few years back and to Shulk’s horror – he now adored vegetables almost as much as Fiora did.

It made Shulk seriously want to re-evaluate his friendships when Reyn turned up on his doorstep munching heartily on a carrot.

“They’re just so gooood,” Reyn pouted at his loss, making grabby hands as the plate was torn from him, and watched with increasing venom as Shulk choked his way through his second roll. “The food you make is the _best _Fiora.”

Fiora smiled sweetly at Reyn, eyes glittering from the praise. “Thank you Reyn. At least one of you appreciates my hard work.”

Shulk spluttered indignantly, “I do appreciate it! Just not when you soil perfectly good food by _encroaching it in_ _vegetables_. And you know _he_,” he waved an accusatory finger, “only says that so he can have your free food, right?”

Reyn snickered, which almost caused him to suffocate on whatever he had stuffed in his gob – if the sudden glower Fiora shot him didn’t kill him first.

“_Encroaching_,” she muttered, “the fancy words Shulk, what does it _mean_.”

“Encroaching,” Reyn hummed with a smile, and Shulk shot the pair a nasty glare. “Sounds a bit like cockroaches.”

“Covering,” Shulk sighed blisteringly and slowly reached into the basket for a sandwich. “Covering it in vegetables.”

The three fell back into a relaxed repartee when Shulk suddenly remembered, “-oh _wait_, Reyn you said something earlier about the defence force?”

Reyn’s triumphant grin could have illuminated all of the ether lamps in the colony simultaneously. “Yep! Since I'm still pretty young I’m not technically an _official _soldier yet thanks to some stupid rule about kids in the military being ‘unethical’,” he said the word with as much spite as he could muster, “but apparently if I keep up with my training I’ll be one in a few months!”

Shulk’s eyes blew wide and Fiora gave a little gasp. “Wow… that’s amazing,” she commented, though the prior energy she had was gone and she sounded kind of drained.

“Yeah well, it’s certainly nothing to sneeze at but… well I'm sure you know that ah… Dunban had joined the force way before me at this point.”

Reyn looked uncomfortably over at Fiora, as she glanced away, eyes uncertain. Shulk, blissfully oblivious to the tension uncrossed his legs and piped up, “don’t focus on something like that or let it take away from your own achievements though. Joining- getting an apprenticeship at our age is amazing, like I knew you were good but _wow.”_

Reyn beamed. “Thanks mate.”

Fiora hesitated for a moment before looking Reyn dead in the eyes, smile soft. “Congrats Reyn. That’s a great achievement.”

“I just got things to protect y’know? The colony, this place means a lot to me now- taking me in after what happened to my home ‘n all. And people like you two and the other kids back at the home- they’re… if the Mechon ever came they’d need protecting and if I can be there…” he pumped his fists together and looked up. “Then I'm really doing something that matters, y’know?”

Neither Shulk and Fiora had never seen their friend act so sincere before, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. They both nodded in affirmation.

“Maybe you can get Shulk to join you,” Fiora said playfully, leaning over and pulling up the blond’s arms who squawked in protest. “Oh Shulk you’re as thin as a stick- _don’t look at me like that, _you eat nothing and you don’t exercise!”

Reyn had seemingly stuffed his face with a whole head of cabbage after his speech and nodded eagerly with filled cheeks. Shulk just recoiled.

“That’s not… I’m fine! And I do eat! And exercise!”

Fiora’s eyebrows creased with worry. “Maybe, but not enough. Reyn’s right, what if the Mechon attack. Reyn’s going to be a soldier and I'm receiving training from my brother,” this second part was news to Shulk, “so you should at least learn to defend yourself.”

“I can defend myself!” Shulk lied. In truth he had barely undergone any sort of training, his attention fully divided by working on the Monado and other weaponry, fighting or learning how to just seemed rather boorish in comparison.

Huffing and definitely not backing down Fiora rose onto her hackles and sharply glared at her friend. “No you can’t! You can’t fight, you can’t use a sword- you probably can’t even lift one with how weak your body is! All I want is for you to prepare yourself, you don’t know what’s going to-”

“What’s it any of _your business?_” Shulk seethed, forgoing logic and any sort of rational thought in favour of the red-hot anger that was flowing flush through his veins. “It’s none of your business how I lead my life so just _leave me alone!”_

Shulk had never usually been the one for melodramatics, and perhaps being on the water’s edge of puberty hadn't helped his situation any, but he hadn't really been thinking straight when he shouted at Fiora, leapt to his feet and fled down the mountain path in any which direction.

Even though Fiora was right, he was rather unfit and scrawny and undisciplined in combat – his legs refused to acknowledge the truth as he just kept running and running, tears leaking out of his eyes and nose running like a waterfall.

He didn’t make it too far before he’d completely winded himself, coughing up his own lungs and dropped to the floor, scraping his knees and elbows and ugly crying into the dirt as his feelings finally seeped out.

Mind a frazzled mess of emotions and regrets and anger and sadness, he lay there, sobbing despondently for a short while before crawling to his feet. He hissed, the stinging on his appendages becoming unmanageable as blood mingled with mud and gravel, and then noticed the cave wall in front of him.

Tephra Cave. Dangerous, don’t enter, monsters in there are very strong and _will kill you. _All very chilling yet crucial warnings Shulk had had reiterated to him over and over ad nauseum, though could recall none of them as he plodded numbly into the cave’s thin and musky atmosphere, head abuzz.

This, as you might expect, probably wasn’t the smartest idea for an emotionally unstable thirteen-year-old with no form of weaponry or armour or even a decently sized rock to at least throw at enemies for a chance to escape.

After wandering aimlessly what seemed like a drawn-out eternity, footsteps down-trodden enough not to alert the collection of spidery arachno that adorned the ceiling and walls, his emotional rage had quelled to the point where suddenly his brain switched on again and was launched into an extreme state of breathless panic.

What was he doing? What had he _done?_

Forgetting his precarious situation for now, his harsh words from before were at the forefront of his mind; he’d been so unspeakably rude to Fiora. She’d only been trying to help and he’d just… ugh. Guilt and self-hatred and shame curled into him and even if there was no-one around to see it, he hung his head in disgrace.

His top priority for the moment was getting out of the dark and dank death-cave alive, but if he did it would then be to grovel on his hands and knees before his friend for forgiveness. He _hoped_ Fiora would forgive him, he hoped _Dunban _would forgive him for making his beloved younger sister so distressed. Shulk squeezed his eyes shut as the mental image of her face, pain scribbled over every inch, emerald hues constricted with shock and tears too stunned to fall.

Sadness dripping from every footstep, Shulk turned back and tried to work his way through the maze of winding tunnels, barely lit with small ether lamps. He was so lost – not that he’d actually known the way, but after the fifth dead-end his frustration grew palpable, enough so it was picked up by the monsters that scuttled around him.

Shulk gulped, the noise getting louder. Adrenaline fired rapidly from his sinuses and body felt cold and drained of blood as the cave began to get smaller around him. There was a shrill screech that increased the intensity to eleven, and Shulk wanted to bolt but found he could barely move, like fear was a web and he was stuck to the ground. That fight or flight stuff he’d learned about in class was _nonsense._

And then he saw it, as it crawled horrifically through the cavern on its mammoth legs, all those eyes twitching wildly though centred on him and him alone – an arachno the size of a _house. _A small house. A bungalow.

Dread became his oxygen, and the moist surroundings were acid that chafed his skin- not to mention the bubbling and _burning_ on his insides.

So this is how he would die he thought, encroached in nihilism as the creature got progressively closer, and his vision began to blur. Shulk could never accurately recall what happened in that moment, but after his whole body was rocked with a phantom pain that ghosted through his tendons, there was an incredibly bright light and he found himself slammed against the floor- a sudden bout of nausea drifting up his body until he felt he could no longer contain his entrails and vomited. His vomit was black, though it didn’t worry him as much as it should.

No mercy was granted to him; his body refused to succumb to the void, and every muscle ached terribly as he tried to move. He couldn’t stand up, but he _needed to, _the gigantean arachno had been somewhat stunned- in that it was writhing around on it’s back in seven types of agonies, but not incapacitated.

Instead he could do nothing but crawl and squirm away, despite the way pain struck every nerve like nuclear fire weaponry, and head splitting so fiercely the images reaching his brain were more like a slide show.

Something, somewhere was screaming at him, screaming to ‘_go go go get away,’ _but without attention it faded into the chorus of synchronies bleating harrowingly around him.

Before he could process it, he had somehow reached a wide open area with a lake and waterfalls, and bleak horror coursed through him when he thought of entering the water – he might not leave it if he did. He wasn’t ready to be returned to the Bionis, not yet.

“Unghh,” he wheezed, voice hoarse from screaming and crying and vomiting. He just wanted to _go home. _The world continued to spin precariously before his eyes and the repugnant stench of water-soaked brogs had him pressing his nose into his jacket – though that didn’t smell a good deal better. He regretted _everything, _and he curled up half wailing half screaming and made a foolish wish for forgiveness and prayed to the Bionis for a merciful death.

Sadly, his wish was not granted, his garbled noises just attracting more arachno- which looked infinitely more terrifying close up as they tried to eat him.

A cold shadow washed over him, the derelict sight of the huge arachno poised over him, furious, jaw unhinged and salivating burning into his brain. Then it was wiped clean off the face of Bionis by a wild side swipe that sprayed a rather excessive amount of blood and guts, coating him.

A creature, a _giant _humanoid creature had launched itself in front of him and was ferociously pummelling the monsters that surrounded them with its fists. Shulk was hardly aware enough to wince at the bloodbath that resulted before the creature turned around and eyed him, breathing heavily. An odd sound erupted from its throat, eyes wide with what Shulk might have called fear in a Homs, and his last thought before he capitulated was what a nasty picture he must have been.

* * *

Shulk had tried not to make a habit of waking up to the sterile white of a hospital room. He took his medicine like _at least _90% of the time, never got into fights or did the risky stuff that Reyn always did, like climb up and around the rock faces without a safety rope. Yet somehow, as his thoughts began to string together, his non-committal efforts were rewarded with the glorious smell of anti-bacterial spray and rubber gloves. He might even hate hospitals more than Dickson.

Eyes clouded with an impenetrable haze, he found he couldn’t move anything for maybe about two minutes until he finally, painfully lolled his head to the side to spot Fiora.

She was asleep, curled up in a small ball on an unstable looking chair and eyes squeezed tight. The shining wet patches on her cheeks showed how much she’d been crying and the mechanised truck of regret rolled around again at full speed, billowing straight into his stomach, dragging him with it in its decent into a remorse filled hell.

Dunban was also in the room, on an opposite sofa with his hands clenched clammily around a book that by the distant look in his eyes- he was definitely not reading. Another wave of regret washed over Shulk and he tried to call out to the pair, though it came out horrifically, like he had a frog in his throat.

Dunban almost jolted out of his seat in shock, eyes wide in a way that made Shulk’s stomach do roly-polys in sludge. The book fell from his hands and clattered to the floor, and he scrambled out of the seat to gently rouse Fiora and hover to his bedside.

Shulk could barely move and his mouth was dry and his head was spinning, but he could still feel the tears that dribbled from his eyes as Fiora’s face crumpled at the sight of him. Invasive thoughts of _oh god she still hates me _were smited by the smothering hug she wrapped him in, and the soft cries of ‘I’m so happy you’re okay!’

“Hey hey hey,” Dunban breathed and gently disconnected his sister from the hospital bed, though his hands were shaky and an unmistakable look of relief could be seen dancing behind his eyes. It seared a glimmer of hope in Shulk’s soul. “Don’t clamber all over him like that or you’ll break all his bones.”

Fiora rubbed at her smiling, streaming face and turned away to grin at Dunban. “Sorry,” she whispered but didn’t sound the slightest bit repentant.

“I’ll go and get… a doctor- no he’s just woken _up _Fiora, he needs a bit of time to adjust. And water, lots of water.” Dunban let go of a wriggling Fiora who lamented and flopped back down in a chair. He raised his head, murmuring, “… should tell Dickson, you should go and tell Reyn, Fiora. I’m sure he’ll want to know.”

Fiora launched out of the chair with a speedy nod, gave Shulk one last look before fleeing out the room and presumably down the corridor. The pounding in Shulk’s head was distorting Dunban, who turned back to look down at Shulk affectionately.

“I knew you were a fighter Shulk. I’m sorry I almost gave up on you, but,” he trailed off and shook his head, “never again. I’ll always be here for you.”

Shulk couldn’t begin to decipher what _that _meant, and a small smile graced the now twin Dunbans’ faces as the darkness that teetered around the edges of his vision obtruded where it didn’t belong, especially with him having been asleep for who knows how long.

There was a long, suffering sigh, that echoed from somewhere Shulk couldn’t put his finger on- and had his eyes scouring the room for a fleeting moment.

Shulk wouldn’t remember it when he woke up next, but it was followed by another, much more drawn out sigh and a mutter of _‘So this is what I have to deal with now. Typical.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the cave scene did originally happen in chapter two before, but it's here now. i've basically added Reyn into a bunch more scenes because i love him. 
> 
> thanks for reading!


	3. celestial neophyte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shulk is comforted by both Dickson and Dunban, but then starts hearing things he doesn’t want to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well hello there~ isn’t this some cold weather we’re having. i’m british okay complaining about the weather is some sort of rite of passage.
> 
> i would just like to let you know that i borderline wrote this from scratch since the original scene bothered me so much. it also includes a whole new scene and more Fiora because she’s great. basically i totally let this get away from me. i'm sorry.
> 
> please enjoy nonetheless.

_Chapter Three - celestial neophyte_

It took two or three rounds of waking back up, drinking water, garbling incessantly at doctors and then switching off again (Shulk wasn’t sure about the third one because he’d been hearing some very weird things and convinced himself it was a dream), before his body fully rebooted and he could stay conscious for longer periods of time than 2-5 minutes.

The second (third) time he awoke, it was an automatic response to the familiar smell of tobacco and he coughed himself cognizant. It didn’t take a genius to realise his guardian was in the room, and in spite of the aching in his bones, he wriggled upright to face Dickson.

Dickson had always been incredibly difficult to read. Even as he lounged sluggishly on the doctor’s chair, _chewing _his cigar which can’t have tasted particularly wonderful, Shulk inexplicably found himself doubting the authenticity of the worry that had seemingly carved new lines into his face. It made him feel guilty all over again because Dickson didn’t deserve it.

Dickson made no move to acknowledge he’d notice Shulk’s rouse, and a stifling silence reigned supreme for what felt like the longest minutes of Shulk’s life. Eventually, Dickson raised his head, voice wavering slightly and hitched in all the wrong places that made the atmosphere a little awkward.

“How’re you holding up?” He said gruffly, and the serious tone that Shulk rarely ever heard unless he’d knocked over a crate of very rare Mechon parts crawled up his spine and rested heavily on his shoulders.

Shulk was finding it hard to meet Dickson’s eyes. It didn’t escape him that Dickson said nearly exactly the same thing every time he woke Shulk up, hospital or not.

“A bit better,” he bit out and shuffled a bit more until he was in a seated position. “I can feel my legs now, at least.”

The elder man grunted, “That’s good. You’ve definitely been in the wars, though there are less physical injuries and more of…” he gestured like Shulk could understand semaphore, “the usual. Ether deficiency, dehydration…”

He trailed off and Shulk shivered, triggering another spell of pain to shoot up his body. He involuntarily hissed.

Dickson raised his eyebrows. “You sure you’re alright?”

The young blond let out a shuddering breath, closed his eyes and rubbed his arm soothingly. “Are you sure it was just ether deficiency? I feel like I’ve been wrung through a meat grinder.”

To his surprise, Dickson chuckled. “Well, that was all the doctors could find on you anyway. If you feel like there’s something else that happened, something you can’t explain… you should- you can tell me.”

Shulk’s brow furrowed at his guardian’s cryptic message. The knowing look in Dickson’s eyes did nothing to enlighten Shulk on what he meant, and the odd intensity Dickson radiated had him nibbling anxiously at his lip.

“I don’t know…” Shulk said dismally. “I barely remember what happened.”

“What do you remember? Do you remember how you ended up in Tephra Cave?”

Shulk let out a bitter breath, and the salty taste of blood-tinged his tongue from where he’d bitten right through his lip. All of a sudden, he was way too scared to admit it out loud, with _words _the _awful_ things he’d said to Fiora. The more he agonized over it, the heavier the tear ducts swelled under his eyes.

“I… I had a fight with Fiora,” he sobbed, and his voice crumbled away with a strangled sob, “Dickson, I need to apologise to Fiora! And Reyn… and _Dunban…”_

Dickson just shook his head, still frowning. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “She forgave you already, don’t worry about it.”

This did not help whatsoever. Shulk’s weeping got even louder, even as he muffled them into the blank, sterile blankets of the hospital bed. Dickson wanted nothing more than to eject himself out of the window and far, _far _away from this conversation.

“Er… please don’t cry Shulk, I’m not… I don’t know how to deal with tears. I… I know it’s hard, but it’s really important you remember what happened. Take your… time, I'm not,” he looked around the room bleakly, “…going anywhere.”

Comforted by Dickson’s soft tone, Shulk timidly recounted all he could recall, and to his surprise Dickson listened to him intently with a semi-thoughtful look pulled up on his face. Some parts of his fantastical tale were a little hazy, such as the period of time between being attacked by the larger-than-life arachno (which Dickson revealed to be the arachno _queen, _and it had been chewing on traders from nine to six for years), but it still made some modicum of sense.

Shulk was hesitant to divulge about the peculiar creature he had seen that killed the arachno queen, and his fears were confirmed when Dickson did not react well, face draining of colour. He swiped his cigar from his lips and practically crushed it with his fist beneath the table beside him, sharp eyes suddenly surveying Shulk in a way that came off almost creepy.

Shulk wanted to crawl under the covers and die, _why would he say that_ _did he want Dickson to think he was mad._

It was barely quelled when Dickson relaxed minutely and pursed his lips.

“That’s a very interesting ending,” Dickson was unable to hide the way his voice trembled, and it made Shulk infinitely more nervous. “I will admit, I find it quite far-fetched, but really,” he rubbed at his bandana and Shulk noticed he was sweating, “that cave is really dangerous. Who knows what creatures are lyin’ around in there.”

Shocked, Shulk’s eyes blew wide and a flicker of hope quivered in his chest. “You… you _believe me?”_

Dickson stewed in a perverse silence for a moment. “Yeah Shulk," he muttered, "I believe you. Be glad something in there was willing to save you, since wandering into such a dangerous cave on your own was an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

He tried to reprimand the kid, but the chide bounced right off as Shulk glittered with glee, grinning big, bright smile with a hint of teeth complimenting a dollop of gloop from his nose. It made Dickson’s chest twinge with an unnerving feeling he was _so _sure he’d shot down somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind.

“Thank you thank you _thank you!” _Shulk squealed and despite the pain, crawled forward and affixed himself onto his guardian, hugging him into a death grip. Dickson squawked as his arms were suddenly filled with thirteen-year-old, and after a painful deliberation, he decided it wouldn’t kill him to comfort the kid a little. Might take a blow to his pride though.

A hushed snicker from the doorway had Dickson tilting his head to see Dunban reclining against the doorframe. It took a few seconds longer than it should have for it to click with Dickson that Dunban was mocking him and he scowled.

Irritated, Dickon made an effort to get up and scold Dunban, but found he couldn’t move whilst enveloped in child, and just settled for glowering at the twenty-two-year-old, which did nothing to deter Dunban and in fact made him laugh even harder until he couldn’t stifle it in his hands.

“Now now Shulk, let the man breathe,” Dunban’s voice was light and Dickson just glared harder.

“Mmm sorry dad,” Shulk said absentmindedly and flopped back onto his bed, a happy and content smile on his face, unaware to how Dickson’s whole body seized up in a very convincingly simulated rigour mortis at his confession.

Dunban just chuckled and paced into the room, admiring the delightful scene he had inadvertently disrupted. Dickson had been Dunban’s mentor in combat after all, back when he was a teenager, and he liked to think he could spot Dickson’s odd idiosyncrasies when they presented themselves. Things like the fact that Dickson never really got close to people, never really let them in, preferring to keep to himself and that was _fine. _He was social, social enough that people liked him, but also incredibly apprehensive concerning his personal life.

When Dickson had announced he was going to be _raising _Shulk after he salvaged the child from a very much unapproved suicide mission all those years ago, Dunban hadn't really believed the old man could do it. Uncovering the _lovely_ father and son bonding hug, he added another mark to the small tally of maybe he could do it after all. It made him solemnly wish he could share something like that with his own parents.

He made a mental note to go spoil Fiora later.

Dunban was battling fiercely to hold back his mirth, and failed as Dickson spotted and began indignantly vibrating with what Dunban assumed to be a flustered embarrassment. It was decidedly not; Dickson clenched his fists so heatedly they bled _white_.

“Come on Dickson, my friend,” Dunban prompted, powerless to hide his gleeful smirk and Dickson just glowered at him with a despair-filled outrage. “Be happy your _son _survived his predicament.”

Dickson ground his teeth in his jaw and swiftly stood from his chair. “He wouldn’t have _been_ in any predicament if he knew how to defend himself.”

Dunban frowned, “Dickson-”

“-of course he wouldn’t _need _to defend himself if he didn’t put himself at risk.”

“Dickson-”

“-I thought that because he was intelligent that maybe he’d be smart enough to stay out of danger.”

“Dickson he’s _thirteen-_”

But the old giant would not be deterred. Perhaps a little more peeved at himself and the utterly _absurd _feelings that were bubbling in his chest, he stumbled over to the doorway and ignored Dunban when he tried to placate him, hissing a multitude of expletives. “_Ridiculous, _stupid, _so much _work I should just enlist him in the _defence force_, that will solve _all_ my problems…”

Neither Shulk nor Dunban were all that perturbed. Dickson had a funny habit of muttering to himself and was something he did rather habitually. You wouldn’t notice you hadn't gotten used to it until it became common practice to ignore him.

Shulk blinked and suddenly Dunban was reclining in the chair Dickson had been perched on. He audibly gulped, and then shivered like the room had suddenly dropped a few degrees. Of course, Dunban would be _furious, _he’d hurt Fiora for no reason – not only one of his best friends, but Dunban’s precious sister.

Shulk bleakly wondered if he’d survive this encounter, but the warm smile never left the brunet’s face.

“Shulk,” Dunban began but was immediately cut off.

“I'm so sorry!” Shulk burst out, voice scratchy from his previous tears. “I didn’t- I didn’t _mean _to hurt Fiora, I was just angry for no reason and it slipped out and-!”

“Shulk!” Dunban said, startled. “It’s _okay, _really- I'm not mad. Fiora’s not mad either she was more worried than mad- no don’t look like that, it’s fine, really. Everyone has arguments, it’s an inescapable part of friendship.”

“But… but still-!”

Reaching out, Dunban lightly placed his hands on Shulk’s shuddering arms in a comforting embrace. “Shh, don’t worry it’s fine. We were more worried about you, and what happened to you.”

Grimacing, Shulk raised his head. “What happened after… how did you find me?”

His heart skipped a beat when Dunban’s face became grave. The brunet didn’t seem entirely sure how to answer him, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed above distant eyes. It reminded Shulk of how uneasy Dunban had looked when he’d woken up the first time; something gloomy was misting before Dunban’s eyes that he wasn’t able to unsee.

Twisting his mouth, Dunban pulled his right knee up to his chest. “We… most of the colony had been searching after a few hours when you didn’t return. We were all about to lose hope when Dickson tumbled out of Tephra Cave in a…” he let out a blistering sigh and clapped his hand on his knee, “…a hysterical _panic_, holding you battered and bruised and covered with blood.”

Shulk felt unwell. There was a little grace in that it hadn't been _his_ blood, but he was smart enough not to blurt that out.

The blond lowered his head, overwhelmed with shame. “I…”

“I’m sure Dickson told you but going in there was a very stupid thing to do. We rushed you straight to hospital to treat you and…” his voice became the ghost of a whisper. “You flatlined about three times.”

The words didn’t register with him for a few moments. When they did, all of the air was sucked from his lungs and his body became a tightly packed vacuum. He had… _died? _His mind spun itself dizzy, running in circles covering every prospect, breath suddenly a luxury commodity and everything else rapidly declining thereafter.

Dunban seemed very depressed, and Shulk abashedly concurred the sentiment, suddenly wishing very hard he hadn't said anything at all.

Eventually Dunban continued in a pinched voice. “Different… machines gave us different answers, some said you were still alive, some said you’d been dead for years, but the thing that kept us all going was that your _mind _was still active,” he trailed off, completing his prose with a shuddered breath.

“And yet you remained comatose, and there was little we could do. After a while I… I gave up and decided it would be best if we returned you to the Bionis so you could be laid to rest but Dickson wouldn’t have it. He said…” Dunban’s grimace melted into a chuckle, “… he said he would wake you up no matter what, even if it took him the rest of his life. You should have seen him, poor old fool- I've never seen him so…_scared _in all the time that I've known him. Not even when you collapsed from ether deficiency a few years ago.”

When Dunban finished he let out a shaky puff of breath, apparently keeping it all inside had been strangling him and Shulk was relieved to see him finally able to get it off of his chest.

Though he did suddenly feel very ill. Bile rose up his throat, causing tears to speck in the corners of his eyes and making his head whirl. Dunban grimaced sympathetically and surged forward to cloak Shulk in another desperately needed hug.

“As the week went on it went from bad to worse. Dickson just got more and more desperate. He went above and beyond, calling in connections from everywhere to try and help. I was always with him so he didn’t fly off the wall and murder anybody, but it was really wearing him down. We… I didn’t even have the heart to tell Reyn and Fiora- you were absent from our lives for a week and it completely destroyed us. _Please. **Don’t** scare us like that again_.”

Shulk silently wept into Dunban’s shoulder, teeth grit, chest a rampaging hurricane. It felt so foreign, hearing strong, cool, and calm Dunban so emotionally torn up and begging Shulk not to die.

“I won’t,” he pledged, “I won’t do anything like this again, I _promise_.”

Though the tension was lathered thick between them as they lay there, they couldn’t have felt closer, or more comforted by the other if they tried.

After the pair had their little succour embrace, Dunban called for Reyn and Fiora, who despite being strictly informed that Shulk was still recuperating, both launched onto him anyway. Fiora was in tears, _happy tears_ this time, Dunban had explained after a white-hot fear shot through him, and even Reyn sniffled a little.

They had forgiven him. Truly, he was so happy, so blessed he could have such wonderful friends and family who cared about him so much. He’d do anything for them.

_‘Somehow,’ _a voice spoke up after everyone ultimately departed, _‘I highly doubt that.’_

By this point, Shulk had already flumped back and snuggled into the covers to get some rest; he’d just downed two pints of water at Dunban’s behest and still felt rather sloshy.

Unable to tell what was a consequence of his heavy fatigue, and what was in the rapidly darkening room, he closed his eyes and slurred, “well, you’re stupid then, because I love them very, very much.”

The whatever-it-was only sighed. _‘Just go back to sleep you foolish child.’_

Shulk would have been crazy not to do so. He was _completely_ unaware how his simple(ish) life had just changed forever, content to face the music in the morning.

* * *

The morning came a groggy one, and Shulk’s eyelids withered open as the pinkish early dawn rays began teeming through the small gap between the _supposedly _blackout curtains. Grunting at the effort it took to haul himself upright, Shulk languidly scanned the room for life, leaning back against the headboard when he discovered none.

Surprisingly, and a stark contrast to the previous day, he felt right as rain – no pains or anything bar a familiar crick in his neck from his disjointed sleeping position. The young heir looked down, flexed his right hand that had the IV drip embedded in it, and pulled it out disdainfully. He didn’t need a drip to slay alive, he could drink water.

With that in mind, he was extraordinarily thirsty. His eyes swivelled around the room and when he observed no sink or any sort of sanitary drinking receptacle, he scoffed, kicked the covers off his legs and lugged them around until they hit the ground. The papery leg-casts made a dull noise as they bounced against the polished linen, and it took three tries of wobbling upright then his legs immediately giving way from misuse, before he hobbled over to the door.

He didn’t know what time it was, but the eerie silence that echoed through the hospital corridor told him it wasn’t midday, likely a very early morning or the dwindling of an evening. It was strange, he’d been in and out of the hospital a few times before and not once had he seen it devoid of life, not even when he’d woken up at 3am desperate for a toilet break.

It was a little unnerving, and Shulk anxiously tiptoed through the hallway as well as one could when their legs were swathed in five layers of soggy paper-mâché.

Gulping down what he hoped was the bulk of his fear, and with a gentle push the door creaked open at the end of the hallway. A small shiver flickered up his arms and he gazed hopelessly down at the terrifyingly endless, cobweb ridden, dark and murky emergency staircase, low-level lighting stuttering dimly.

_‘Hmm,’ _A sudden voice resounded out, and Shulk jumped ten feet in the air. ‘_That’s definitely the most inefficiently lit emergency staircase I’ve ever seen.’_

Perhaps it was the horror-movie level of gloom and doom that had cloaked the area, paired with a ghostly death-silence that suffocated all sound, but a mysterious voice coming from nowhere would frighten the bravest of men. Shulk _screamed, _toppled over in sheer shock, and clattered loudly to the floor.

There was no-one there he’d been undoubtedly _alone. _Fear rocked his body like he’d been thrust into a freezer, every cell screaming to _go go go get back into bed and under the covers _but his legs had bottled up again, and his palms stung furiously from where they’d smacked against the ground, rendering him fearfully immobile.

His heart was slamming so fast in his chest he thought it might burst out.

_‘Stop acting like such a child,’ _the voice said lowly. _‘If you’re this frightened by something so insipid, you are **far** from being ready for the abominations this world beholds.’_

Shulk was barely listening he was so terrified. Luckily his screech of terror had attracted the attention of the nurses from wherever they’d been hiding. They bustled over to him and plucked him unceremoniously off of the floor, scolding him harshly for being out of bed when he wasn’t supposed to.

They mercilessly scrubbed the grazes on his palms with alcohol, and peppered haphazard plasters over the scraped skin after jabbing the IV back into the back of his hand. Eventually, after realising he wasn’t going to calm down, the nicest nurse with curly black hair ruefully sat at the end of his bed, soothing him with soft words and gentle touches.

Finally, his breathing evened out and his rigid skeleton relaxed into the bedsheets. He didn’t fall back asleep, he was _far too _alert and bugged out to do so, but Reyn popped in about an hour later with armfuls of weapon blueprints that succeeded in distracting him for the remainder of the day.

* * *

The voice didn’t make it’s rather unwelcome reappearance until after he was discharged from the hospital. It was awfully clear that it had gotten antsy with boredom waiting for Shulk to arrive home, as it announced its presence a second(?) time merely hours after Shulk woke up in his own bed the next day.

A handful of days after the _deeply_ disturbing hospital incident (Shulk loathed them _even more _now), he had managed to convince himself that whatever he had heard that time had been a product of his own mind, he’d scared _himself _staring down the stairway of doom. Expectancy hypothesis and all that. Or he’d dreamed it all up. Lost in his own thoughts as Reyn was always saying, too paranoid for his own good.

This defence mechanism was very short-lived, when as the sun reached its peak – signalling a warm bright midday, the second he emerged into the Military District was his silence proved _extraordinarily _short-lived as he heard a muted sigh.

_‘Your shoelaces are untied.’_

Instantly, Shulk’s body froze like he’d been shot by a pointy barrage of ice ether crystals. His blood ran _arctic _cold and the panicky nausea sensation from before returned with double- _triple _the intensity, snaking it’s slimy way around his throat and sternum. There was little room for doubt, he had definitely heard a voice; slightly deeper but discerningly similar in tone, and a fresh fear settled.

It was broad daylight, and yet the plains were painfully deserted, a large-scale operation being led by both Dickson and the Lieutenant Colonel Vangarre that Reyn was always complaining about.

After’s Shulk’s… incident, their intrepid operation was to excavate the Mag-Mell ruins and beyond of minor level threats to increase passage between the colonies now the arachno queen was dead. Dickson had also made some offhand comment about a rare Bright Fig tree that supposedly grew without the sun, but Shulk assumed he said that to get his mind off of what happened.

Tentatively, his azure gaze dropped to his scuffed shoes, to glimpse that his laces were indeed undone, and his heartbeat spiked. Very quickly he bent down and fumbled a double knot for safety, and hastily sprinted back home to cower under the covers.

Dickson didn’t come back that night, and Shulk was too terrified to emerge from his sanctuary and make himself dinner, so he went hungry. At that point he was feeling so ill from anxiety that he couldn’t determine the justification for his stomach pains and would probably throw up if he ate anyway so it didn’t bother him.

Fiora barging in the next morning bearing a steaming hot bowl of soup eased his pains by a considerable amount, though he was a little too woozy to adequately reply to her twittering about the contents of said soup and he just contentedly chewed on the chunks of meat he was pretty sure soups didn’t usually contain.

“So?” Fiora leaned forward expectantly, her green eyes glistening, “How is it? Do you like it?”

Shulk blinked owlishly, feeling like a deer caught in a monster truck’s headlights. “Um.”

“I used a new herb today called pepper,” she vacillated, not really waiting for a reply. “Dunban always _covers_ the meat we eat with it, so I thought maybe it would add flavour to the soup.”

Shulk looked quizzically down at the masses of tell-tale black specks and whisked his spoon around the bowl. Apparently, he’d hesitated too much as Fiora huffed and padded at his duvet to draw his attention.

“Um, there _is _a lot of pepper,” he mumbled absentmindedly, “a rather overwhelming amount of it.”

Fiora gasped, affronted, “What? You don’t like it?”

“I- I didn’t _say_ that-”

Folding her arms crossly, the blonde pouted. “Y’know, you shouldn’t insult a girl’s cooking like that Shulk.”

“I didn’t insult it. It was _constructive criticism_.”

Fiora didn’t seem to know what those words meant, and her face bloomed a ferocious red. “_Words Shulk.”_

“I was trying to help!”

“Well…! It wasn’t helping! You wouldn’t even have to _say_ anything if you just told me you liked it!”

She crossly tried to yank the bowl out of his hands. Shulk’s stomach gurgled nastily, and he stubbornly tugged it back, desperately struggling not to spill it over his newly washed bed sheets.

He then overheard a long-suffering sigh and his grip instinctively loosened. The inference of the sigh greeted him with, _‘Just tell her you liked it. Compliment the vegetable choice.’_

Shulk almost dropped the bowl. “There’s _vegetables _in there?!” he blurted aloud, not registering the origin of the voice he’d heard.

“How can you tell?!” Fiora shrilled and precariously eyed the soup like the vegetables were somehow whole and unobscured despite knowing how impossible that would be. “I made sure they were blended- and _this _is why I added pepper so you wouldn’t freak out about it.”

Wincing with repent, Shulk released the bowl and nibbled at his lip. “I’m sorry. I _do _like it though, especially the meat- what is it Armu?”

A nonchalant grin curled up on Fiora’s face. “See, I told you it was nice. Now I just have to find more creative ways to hide all the good stuff because you’re so _picky._”

“You say things like that, and now I’ll never eat anything you make for me ever again.”

“We’ll see,” she said mystically and placed the unfinished meal on his bedside. She hauled up her unbelievably heavy basket and almost effortlessly swung it over her shoulder. She looked petite but Fiora had the strength of a monster, and it was pretty terrifying. Awesome, but terrifying.

“I’m gonna go find Reyn, he’s finally starting his official defence force internship today, so I wanted to wish him good luck. You coming?”

“Oh, is the Tephra Cave team back already?”

Fiora sighed explosively, face pulled up into a deep frown. “Some of them. _Dunban’s _not though,” her voice was very bitter, “and neither is Dickson sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Shulk muttered caustically, slipping off the bed and pulling on a random shirt he had lying around. “I’ll be down in a minute, just let me get dressed and I’ll come with you.”

“Make sure to brush your teeth!”

Smiling, Shulk spun around and wrapped Fiora in a surprise hug, which she tightly returned. “Yes Miss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hospitals fuck me up, and that may or may not have shone through a bit over the past few chapters. oops. don’t hate hospitals kiddos they make you better.
> 
> thanks for reading~


	4. deafening disquiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voice is getting louder; more vocal. It’s also pretty antagonistic because of course it is. But because of that, something breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how’s it hanging? i’m sorry i know no-one says that anymore.
> 
> so quick heads up, please take a gander at those tags ‘cause this chapter gets into some pretty heavy shit that might make some feel uncomfortable. no spolies, just wanna warn y’all that there are no breaks on this angst train, full speed ahead for _pain_.__
> 
> _ _i usually say please enjoy here. take my silence as you will O_o_ _

_Chapter Four - deafening disquiet_

Reyn, despite being merely fourteen years old, wasn’t even the smallest person in the defence force, and by the looks of things, he _definitely _wasn’t the weakest either.

The sparkling ‘new recruits’ were undergoing 'mild' strength conditioning, which consisted of push ups and sit ups and other brutal fitness exercises that Shulk couldn’t possibly name because his idea of exercise was a brisk, _brief_ walk around the colony. To him it looked more like bodily _torture,_ and Shulk suppressed endless shivers as he idly shrunk into himself watching the warriors grunt and sweat.

A stark contrast to him, Fiora gazed over at them in an aberrant wonder. Shulk tried to jokingly mock her for her intensive stare, but she curtly brushed him off saying that exercise and fitness were a beautiful thing and he was an idiot. He resented that.

And exercise was very _not _beautiful, it was immense suffering – Fiora must be some sort of _sadist_. The sheer extent that the strenuous training went to looked to be physically excruciating, it made Shulk feel a little dizzy just observing and he had to sit down.

After a while, Reyn glanced up and noticed the pair from across the court, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. He raced over to them energetically, like he wasn’t even _remotely_ tired, and despite being coated in a sheen of sweat, glomped Shulk and beamed with all the power of a thousand suns.

“Shulk! Fiora! You came to see me!” he bubbled happily, and Shulk would have been inhuman if his first instinct were not to smile back at his best friend’s exultation.

“Of course we came!” Fiora sang and neatly sat cross-legged by the pair and rummaged around in her basket. “Your first day as a soldier is _definitely _something we wouldn’t want to miss!”

Initially, Fiora had been vehemently opposed to Reyn joining the Defence Force. It wasn’t purely selfishness on her part, and more a genuine concern for his safety. Her older brother Dunban was once the greatest rising star in all the militia, and the niggling fear that he would be sent on a mission and never come back only increased exponentially with awareness.

Of course, Dunban was incredible, but everyone in the colony lived under the looming threat of the Mechonis' shadow. Brave soldiers that were sent out to fight would die, every day, laying down their precious lives to protect their friends, homes, and dearest loved ones. Even if they were bestowed the greatest honour for their sacrifice, it did nothing to appease the sadness and overwhelming grief in those who had been left behind.

Reyn was Fiora’s _friend. _She didn’t want him to go off and fight, she wanted him to stay with her and Shulk in the colony where it was safe. They could see each other every day, play hide and seek and chase each other like they always did. Nothing needed to change.

Unfortunately, the world doesn’t work that way.

“She’s right,” Shulk said as he leaned into Reyn’s hug. The bigger boy had been a lot more touchy-feely with him since his accident, and it certainly made him feel safer and more at ease. “You seem to fit in really well.”

“Really?!” Reyn shone brightly as the stars and tilted his head over to where the others were stretching and drinking water. “I suppose all that training Dunban gave me paid off?”

Shulk raised his head quizzically, “Dunban… gave you training?”

“Ah yeah,” Reyn said sheepishly, shifting a little so he could grab the food Fiora was handing him. “It was when er- oh thanks Fiora this looks _great!” _he ripped up a piece of bread, dipped it in the soup and chewed on it, delighted. “_Man, _this is amazing… Oh, what was I saying- umm while you were recovering last week we were all like, nervous and distracted so we went through stretches and exercises together to like, tone our bodies and keep our minds off of things.”

In fact, it had been an almost rigorous daily ritual. Reyn, Fiora and even _Dunban _had had trouble sleeping at night, and so when one day they had all been congregated around Shulk’s bed – tired and irritable – Dunban snapped and dragged the two kids out onto the roof for some what was at first, light stretches.

It became almost necessary in order to stave off the worry, and even after Shulk recovered, both Reyn and Fiora found themselves squatting before bed and stretching when they woke up.

“Oh…” Shulk’s voice was rather small. “That’s good. Did it ah… did it help?”

Fiora smiled and said, ‘yes’ the same time Reyn bellowed it. Reyn then clapped Shulk on the back after stuffing a piece of soupy-bread in his mouth.

“We should do it again and you should join us Shulk!”

Shulk was aghast. “Oh Bionis no. Are you trying to kill me? I _just _got _out_ the hospital Reyn, do you want to send me right back?”

“You’re _overreacting_. It’s just some light stretches!”

“It sounds like one of Dickson’s _punishments.”_

“Reyn’s right Shulk,” Fiora coaxed, poking him in the side. “Look I know this is what we were fighting about last time, but you have to see it from our point of view. We just want you to be _safe. _We want you to be able to _protect_ yourself, so we don’t lose you.”

That shut Shulk up; his face burned in shame. They were right, they had _suffered_ because he was so reluctant to help himself – it was _his_ fault they were worried and nervous.

Looking up at them, Reyn was hopeful, yet a sprinkle of worry was scattered in his eyes. Fiora looked almost pleading, her desires a lot more apparent.

When Shulk had been hospitalised, he had devastated those around him. They had been scared, scared out of their minds that they would lose him. Reyn and Fiora had blamed themselves- that they hadn't been strong enough to protect him.

Reyn doubled down on his efforts and training. Shulk was his best friend, one of the only ones who cared. He had done so much for Reyn and yet Reyn had been able to do nothing when it had mattered most.

Fiora had definitively acknowledged the value of the army. Reyn may be gearing up to eventually go out to war, but she had been naïve to think the war wouldn’t come to her. If something came and invaded her blissful colony life, Reyn would be able to defend himself – Shulk would not.

They both wanted to protect him with all their hearts- but knew that the best way to do that was for him to learn to protect himself.

Shulk sensed the full extent of their sentiments by just looking into their wordless gazes, and then eventually nodded.

“Okay… you’re right. If I don’t want… if I need to protect myself- or protect you or other people I care about I should… get stronger. And learn how to use a sword or something…”

Elated, both of his friends leapt onto him and tightly wrapped him in a warm hug from either side.

“Thank you thank you _thank you_!” Fiora cried and swayed giddily, the odd tear oozing from her eyes in pure relief.

“Thanks mate,” Reyn’s voice was heavy with both relief and gratitude. “That really means a lot.”

Shulk flushed a deep crimson as he squeezed the pair back, and a few traitorous tears escaped him too- he was so _happy_ they were happy, happy he wasn’t going to hurt them again.

He’d decided. He was going to train. He was going to work hard so he could protect them too – protect all the people he loved.

And so the trio lay there, content. They basked in the sizzling early-afternoon rays, which dripped around them and bathed the training plaza in gold; snuggling up to each other as children often do. They'd just rolled off Reyn (who ended up as a pillow for both) when Shulk heard the ghost of something he’d been dreading.

_‘Children are so ridiculous.’_

Even under the blasting heat of the summer sun, Shulk’s whole body quickly turned to ice. His hands quivered and he frantically pressed his eyes tight in the hopes that his mind was just playing tricks on him… again.

Lamentably, it wasn’t. _‘Friendships don’t last you know. They are fleeting relationships at best, one day these fools will desert you.’_

Shulk wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go away.

He shot upright, resulting in his body contorting into a crooked position, with fists clenched tightly, and jaw firmly set trying to ward off the tears.

Reyn followed suit, stretching with a grunt, and popping all the joints in his fingers in the gross way that he does. Luckily, he turned away from Shulk and gratefully thanked Fiora again for the food, when then caused the two to initiate a deep conversation about the contents of the secretly evil-vegetable ridden soup. Shulk barely noticed, too preoccupied and swept up in his own internal anguish. He barely obscured his wheeze of pain, and darted out of the plaza, his brain was unravelling into tatters, and his distress brazen and palpable.

Lacking a sense of direction, he paid little attention to where he was headed until he found himself in a crouch; curled up in a tightly-packed ball behind the main building. The chilling feeling that he was straddling the verge of a frightening panic was assaulting him strongly, stronger than ever before and it was strangling him and he needed to _breathe._

_Inhale. Exhale. _Calm, he just needed to _calm down_. Taking a few deep, shaky breaths he wobbled off of his feet and flumped boneless to the rocky floor in an unceremonious heap. His eyes were tightly shut as he whispered, “-it’s just a self-defence mechanism. Everything is _fine, _I'm _fine_, nothing is wrong.”

He just repeated it over and over and over like it was a religious mantra.

_‘I am _ ** _not _ ** _a self-defence mechanism.’_

Shulk’s heart stuttered arrhythmically in his chest, which squeezed very tightly until it began to ache terribly. With a gasp of dismay, his eyes fluttered as a series of blinks, causing the overdue tears to cascade down and pool around his chin. His sobs were silent, muffled into his knees.

_“Please,” _he whimpered and rubbed his bleary eyes with his sleeves. “Please, just _leave me alone_. I _don’t… _I don’t _want… any _of this.”

There was a terse silence before, _‘You think I want this either?’_

Shulk sniffled, silently questioning his own sanity with how he was talking to a voice seemingly in his own head. “What do you mean?”

_‘I am Zanza the Divine,’ _the voice snarled, revealing its name in the most unwelcome fashion, _‘I am your _**_creator_****_. _**_I once divined this universe as your omnipotent god, have always existed and will always continue to perpetuate until beyond the end of time.’_

Shulk was pretty intelligent, even by thirteen-year-old standards he went far above and beyond in typical language development, and even then, some of the grandeur and fantastical words the voice spewed flew clean over his head.

“U-um. Then can you just leave? Please? I don’t want you here…”

Zanza, as the voice had named itself, hissed at him, _‘You think I would be here, have chosen _**_you _**_if I’d had the choice? Imbecile.’_

Shulk felt hurt, and marginally offended by all the completely unwarranted insults being tossed his way. He clutched his head with a pained grimace. “But…! But it’s _my _head you’re invading! Couldn’t you just… not talk? Or be there at all?”

_‘I will _**_not _**_just sit idly by like some insignificant mortal.’ _Zanza spat.

Shulk couldn’t tell if it was despair or anger, but he felt his emotions were quickly beginning to overwhelm him.

Well if the voice was going to be stubborn about it, then so was he.

“Fine!” Shulk exploded. “Then I’m just going to completely ignore you! You don’t exist!”

The god swore vehemently. _‘Don’t you _**_dare_** _ignore me you insignificant worm. You would defy the magnificent Zanza the Divine? You have a lot of nerve, child.” _

Shulk didn’t dare reply and bit his lip until it blistered.

It would be _fine. _Eventually this… whatever it was would just get bored and leave. It wasn’t like it was real anyway, if Shulk just ignored it, everything would eventually go back to normal.

It _had _to, because Shulk didn’t know if he would be able to take it otherwise.

* * *

Zanza, whom was apparently the self-declared god and _soul _of the Bionis as it liked to remind Shulk daily, was also the god of being loud and obnoxious.

Ever since the first time the two had spoken, which was also the _only _time they had spoken bar the odd exasperated sigh or aggravated grunt – they would constantly get on each other’s nerves.

Specifically, Zanza was inching Shulk closer and closer towards a complete mental breakdown by continually pestering, hounding, _harassing_ him.

Sooner or later something was going to have to give.

Over time, as repulsed as he was to admit it- Shulk eventually became accustomed to hearing the booming voice within his own skull, but that did not mean he was okay with it. It made him different, it made him _abnormal_. Nobody else had a voice in their head. It was permanently ruining his mood.

Shulk was finding it hard to be happy these days.

“This is an intervention,” Reyn had said, popping up out of nowhere one day as Shulk tried moulding himself into his mattress. “We’re going out on pain of death.”

He had dragged Shulk out of his home by the ear and lead the bamboozled teen to a small, peaceful, and familiar corner of the residential district that overlooked the ocean. Shulk remembered this place, they used to come here all the time when they were younger.

Like they previously had, the pair _borrowed _some shipment crates from somewhere and stacked them against an empty home so they could climb on the roof. Shulk swung his legs like a gentle windmill off of the side of his favourite spot; perched behind the dilapidated chimney so he wasn’t in the sun’s fiercest rays. Direct sunlight gave him the most horrendous migraines.

He’d been staring off into the void for a solid two minutes before his best friend twigged and waved his hands in front of his face. “Yo Shulk. You still in there?”

Shulk blinked back to reality and turned to face Reyn sheepishly. “Mmm. Ah-! Yeah… yeah I'm good. Sorry I ah, I was just ruminating.”

“Rumin- _what? _That’s a new one. You and your words.”

Shulk pouted. “Well _excuse me_. I’m just thinking about some things.”

Reyn’s face was a savoury blend of puzzled and suspicious. “You’ve been doin’ that a lot lately. Are you sure you’re alright? Y’know you can talk to me about anything.”

“Haha, no it’s nothing like that. Just like, boring stuff you wouldn’t want to talk about,” Shulk laughed and gave him a small smile.

Reyn’s grin turned impish and he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Shulk, for the last time, your birthday always has been, and _always will be _a big deal, no matter how hard you try to tell me otherwise.”

Shulk hadn't been thinking of that at all, but he was grateful for the scapegoat.

“Reyn no- it’s really not that big of a…” he started but trailed off as the auburn-haired soldier looked at him scathingly. “-I don’t… I just don’t really _care-_”

“’Course you care, y’always enjoy it when we end up doing something. Even if we have to trick or drag you there,” he clipped Shulk around the ear and the blond mechanic tried to swat him away, but it was like hitting a brick wall.

“Are we going to have to throw you another surprise party again? Because you can’t be bothered to do anything- because I for one would be _delighted _to arrange something.”

A wave of cool dread washed over Shulk. “Reyn, don’t do anything stupid- if it’s anything like what happened last time-”

“Last time was a huge success.”

“A huge succe- the gem-making stall _erupted!”_

“With confetti!”

“I don’t think there is supposed to _be_ confetti inside of a molten furnace Reyn, it _still _doesn’t work properly a year later.”

“Okay okay, so the confetti volcano was a bad idea,” Reyn rubbed the back of his neck and itched his hair, deep in thought. “You have to admit that it scared the wits out of you though.”

“And this is why I put a spider in your shoe.”

“I thought that was for the caterpillar in your socks?”

“_Wait that was _**_you_****_?!” _**

Their banter endured in a contest of back and forth for several minutes until they both began to stumble over their comebacks and dissolved into a peal of raucous laughter that almost had Reyn toppling off of the roof.

This is how it was supposed to be. This is what made Shulk happy each day, his reason for leaving the bed each morning that wasn’t the incessant screaming of his empty stomach. It had been his life, an amazing life that had been razed by a quantity yet unknown.

_‘What a farce,’ _seethed Zanza.

Shulk just grimaced and looked down at the floor. Reyn perked his head up curiously.

“Should- shouldn’t we be getting back to the military district? Strength conditioning should start-,” Shulk looked dismally up at the sun, “… soon?”

Reyn’s eyes widened and lazily dragged a hand up to try and ascertain the sun’s position. “Mmm. Maybe. I just remembered that was the other reason I dragged you out here. Square ‘tashe is doing that thing again where he’s chasing around after Fiora to recruit her into the defence force ‘n all that. Knew he’d probably try and make us help.”

Shulk suppressed a smirk. “Right. Shirking responsibilities again?”

“Is it my responsibility to ensure she joins though?” Reyn sighed. “I just don’t want us to be used against her since we know she doesn’t want to join.”

It was surprisingly mature statement coming from Reyn, and Shulk immediately felt a stab of guilt. He knew, of course, that Fiora had a rather justified dissonance with the defence force, even if more recently she'd acknowledged it’s necessity.

Even after Shulk had been coerced into its ranks thanks to Dickson’s unstoppable meddling, Fiora never joined him and Reyn- much to the immense chagrin of Vangarre, who had apparently bared witness to her suplexing an invading bunnit and even 2 months down the line still refused to let it go.

“You… no that’s fair, she deserves to make her own choices. She would be a pretty amazing soldier though."

“She _would_,” Reyn muttered ruefully as he manoeuvred himself to the building's roof to vault off of it. Shulk just slithered down a drainage pipe. “But alas, fate would have it that her worry for Dunban is greater.”

His voice was greatly exaggerated with a posh sounding accent. Shulk looked at him flatly, “Why- what was that. Why are you suddenly _eighty?_”

“I was tryin' to sound like that weird kid…- you know what never mind, I don't think you ever met him.”

“Wait, what?”

Thanks to Shulk's recent defence force training (excruciating hell), he landed cleanly on his feet instead of clumsily tumbling to the floor like he would have otherwise. Reyn chuckled proudly, and clapped him on the back.

“A bunch 'o people came to see you while you were in your coma. There was this one weird kid who just looked at you like, super creepy and intense and was going on about weird shit like fate.”

Shulk's insides felt a little hollow at the admonition. “Oh. Okay.”

Zanza stirred in his mind so viciously that Shulk felt the repercussions as a violent shiver down his back.

_‘Ask him that person's name,’ _it urged. Shulk grit his teeth and shook his head in defiance.

“Cheer up, you didn't miss anything he was a right weirdo. And you're all fine now so there's nothing to worry about.”

The young mechanic gave a small smile. “You're right. Sorry I just don't like thinking about it.”

He once again, neglected to mention the reason for why he hated the incident. The divine chorus in his head was a secret he had barricaded behind his strongest walls and would suffer with to his grave.

People had worried about him enough. Adding something like _this _to his annoyingly public pile of issues would be like he was screaming for attention.

_‘Don't ignore me you incorrigible child.’_

Shulk ignored him. It was better this way.

* * *

The pair parted ways as the sun started to dip beyond the horizon. The beauty of the colony was undeniable when draped in a deep enriching sunset; mystical shadowy patterns would paint the town black with the cursive shapes of the land it was hiding behind.

When Shulk, Reyn and Fiora were small, naïve kids they would always chase after the shadows as they crept up the walls, then dance around in the silhouette of dusk until it eventually cloaked everything in the cool night's umbra.

Now Shulk was older the grievance of his infantile hyperactivity had been long sapped from his muscles by extraneous training exercises, and also age. Instead, he found amenity in lazing around shadow _watching_ rather than vicarious shadow hunting.

Shulk felt it would be all sorts of wrong to perform his bi-nightly gazing ritual from the residential district without Reyn, so he settled on one of the raised walkways close to the ether light, content to just watch the world dizzy itself around him.

Closing his eyes, he reclined gently against the metal railing so it didn’t dig into his back and breathed in deeply. The strong, rusty tang typical of nearby weapon and armour stalls hung around him as a colourless mist, unobscured by the crisp aroma of freshly prepared evening cuisine that wafted from neighbouring restaurant's steamy kitchens.

It made Shulk’s hungry stomach rumble and lurch, and he has to suppress a groan at the impulse to trail after the scent to somewhere he could stuff his face.

Though by a wide margin, the most overwhelming sensation would be the heavy, deafening cacophony of _noise _that always permeated the hilly settlement. Not even at the dead still of the night was the colony silent; always a buzz of chatter or the dull hum of flickering ether lamps to keep him company.

Not to mention the on and off wittering of a disembodied voice that only he could hear, which either maddeningly complained about every choice Shulk made- or _pro_claimed its own magnificent prestige in how it knew everything, and _this_ was the reason Shulk was ultimately wrong about everything.

Surprisingly though, in comparison to every other day, the day had been limited to the odd comment here or there and it had been a lot more hushed than usual. Despite its departure being his strongest desire of the last few months, he couldn't help feeling a little alarmed at the sudden reticence, since it was so greatly out of character.

In the end though, it didn't even matter. Shulk didn't know if it was the voice’s whist or because he was in a sluggish mood, but the colony _itself_ felt even louder today.

Below him, people were screaming. Not at him, he chose to steer mighty clear of conflict, even if he was _technically_ supposed to intervene as a soldier and maintain the peace. The dark of night always drew out the sly and squirrely types and their slightly-illegal, often money-laundering schemes. Most charlatans preferred to operate under the clandestine gleam of the moonlight rather than risk broad daylight to avoid capture. It was something Shulk unwittingly overheard as he just sat and listened to his surroundings, and probably _definitely _something he should have reported way earlier.

Raised voices gave him a _colossal _headache and made his anxious stomach churn like a frothing washing machine that had been improperly crammed to the brim and set to the fastest and hottest spin cycle.

Shulk tried to avoid crowds like they were a bunch of ravenous, rampaging Mechon, yet somehow the crowds always found their way to him.

He had been hardly paying attention to the approaching haggle, because doing so required not only effort but a surplus amount of energy that so late in the evening he just didn't possess. It wasn't really any of his business anyway and being nosey only netted him an even worse headache and a jump-start on his paranoia.

Once the west side of the colony was coated in the night’s embrace and Shulk was just blankly gazing out onto the murky blackish-blue waters, he hauled himself to his aching feet and headed down to the ground level to make his way home.

Even after some semi-peaceful shadow-watching, which in all honesty was the most relaxing part of his day, his head still felt a little muddled. The impeding shackles of a copious lack of sleep, the damning lack of food and the impending _doom_ of Reyn planning his birthday party was all looming terrifyingly over his head.

A heated argument was taking place right before him, and he lackadaisically raised his head when he unknowingly plodded straight to the source of the squabble.

He gulped, it was the gem stall, _again. _It was no secret that after Reyn stuffed massive wads of colourful paper down there, not putting two and two together and realising it would all burn to ash – and then setting it off later, it only really functioned half as well. Judging by the dull, cracked, and horribly misshapen gemstone in the customer’s hand, the issue was still rather prevalent.

In an untimely turn of events, the stall’s owner, a man nobody knew the name of and had been aptly nicknamed the ‘gem man’, caught Shulk’s eye and gave him a sympathetic yet disheartened glare. Even though the blame didn't really lie with him, Shulk was still bowled over by the avalanche of guilt and shame that flooded his veins.

His head snapped to the ground, and he fought desperately with his tear ducts so they wouldn't act up and embarrass him, but his body had been constantly betraying him over the last few months and his face glowed red.

Someone stormed over to him and Shulk could _sense _their rage. “Hey, hey_ you! _So it’s _your_ fault the gem stall has been acting up,” their voice was heavily accusatory and demanded the attention of all who heard it. “Hey, _look at me_ _when I’m talking to you_.”

Even as Shulk slowly lifted his head, he could barely recognise the person through the blur of his tears.

“Hey man,” another person came up from behind, “that's Dickson's kid- the sickly one, remember? Don’t yell at him too much or he’ll tattle and Dickson’ll have your ass.”

Shulk barely registered the man's words due to the fast-paced, hot and terrifying panic and nausea and fear and _anxiety _that rocketed through him. He opened his quivering mouth to blurt a chorus of apologies but they came out as incomprehensible, dribbling sobs.

Frightened by their menacing presences, Shulk reeled back, limbs shaking uncontrollably but legs on an erroneous autopilot which veered him backwards until he was flush against the wall. Fear buckled his legs clean from under him and wound him up into a familiarly defensive ball.

Before he could comprehend it, a thin crowd had gathered, evident by the hushed murmurs that were rapidly increasing in volume, the contents of which only registered as a selection of negative words that swam around Shulk’s skull and squeezed tightly against his chest.

It made it hard to breathe. Shulk _tried_ to breathe the slow and steady way Dunban had taught him when the panic became too much, but he was drowning under a cold black ocean and his lungs were filled with icy seawater that slowly choked him.

Instead his gasps were small and _very _shuddered, until they swiftly picked up the pace, and he began to hyperventilate. In order to calm down, Shulk needed to leave, to crawl away from everyone’s piercing, judging stares- but he was petrified, body frozen in place.

He was becoming _really_ lightheaded, more so than he’d ever been because he couldn’t calm down. His throat was unbearably raspy as he wheezed, yet he was feeling oddly warm- and not in a good way.

The surrounding murmurs were morphing into panicked shouts.

Shulk felt like his chest had been ripped open and then meticulously dissected. Through the pain he heard someone screaming at him, repeating his name over and over. It was getting louder and louder and louder, trouncing his brain and holding his throat hostage in a death grip.

He couldn’t breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe was he going to _die? _

_‘Shulk. Shulk! Listen to me, listen to my voice, I need you to concentrate on my words. Breathe slowly child, you need to breathe steadily or you will asphyxiate. In and out.’_

It was the stupid voice, silent the entire day, yet now just loudly breathing in his ear.

Breathing. That’s right he needed to breathe slowly.

_‘Listen to my voice,’ _it quipped, but not belligerently. ‘T_ake in deep breaths- _**_no_** _you just…! … Just… breathe in… and out… Do it with me.’_

The voice quelled and Shulk endeavoured to coordinate his panting with the calmer breaths that resounded within his own mind. Eventually, his breathing began to stabilize, and a scalding rush of blood stormed his brain, which went from extraordinarily lightheaded to filled with lead in two seconds flat, causing Shulk to limply flump over.

Surprisingly, having expected the roughness of the gravel floor, he eagerly found himself in a pair of warm arms.

Dunban's face was a splattered canvas of worry. He was likely echoing Shulk’s name if the familiar way his lips were forming was any indication, but Shulk could barely attend anything over the loud roar of blood in his brain and the quickfire shots of his heartbeat.

“I'm sorry,” he somehow managed to garble as the elite soldier forced him upright. Once Dunban realised his words weren’t getting through to Shulk, he released him and began to make repetitive curling motions with his hands, then pointed to his feet. Shulk copied him, and feeling began to seep into his muscles again.

Once Shulk could wobble to his feet, fully assisted by Dunban, he leaned into the man for support, clutching the adult’s hand like it was the only thing tethering him to his body, and would drift away if he released it. Dunban stroked his hand back with a thumb in reassurance.

Shulk’s vision began to clip in and out, but he was conscious enough to deduce they were ambling over to the military district. Why there, Shulk couldn’t fathom- but his logical thought process had been halted and his body began to tremble with antipathy.

He just hoped they managed to get somewhere safe before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, for some reason i can’t write a longfic without a character having a panic attack. my deepest apologies- I Am Fucking Dumb™. but for real if you experience anything like this, please speak to someone because while it really sucks, but it’s better to talk it out with people. which is what will be happening in the next chapter- don’t worry i'm not a monster.
> 
> thank you for reading!


	5. stagnant progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shulk gets the comfort he so desperately needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you ask me what happens in this chapter i literally couldn’t tell you despite the fact i just read it three times to check for mistakes. Dunban. there’s lots of Dunban- i _fucking love_ Dunban.__
> 
> _  
_can’t tell if that’s my two brain cells acting up again or something far worse, but it’s definitely something ominous._  
_
> 
> _  
_please enjoy this i sacrificed brain cell three to deliver_  
_

_Chapter Five - stagnant progression_

Eventually, Shulk was escorted to the weapon development lab’s entrance after vehemently refusing to go to the infirmary. Even with Dunban as a pillar of support, he still stumbled drunkenly down the stairs and abjectly collapsed into an array of cushions he’d discarded there after late night study sessions. He didn’t know what being drunk felt like, but he felt like it. Drunk on _oxygen._

Dunban scoured the room for a seat and wheeled out a short stool from under a small desk that was cluttered with scribbled Monado drawings. He pulled the boy out from his makeshift bed and strung him upright in the chair, then crouched in front of him until their eyes were level.

Neither of them spoke a word, and Dunban once again reached out and pulled Shulk’s hand into his own. Shulk was still quaking; it made Dunban squeeze him a bit tighter.

Dunban was very obviously, breathing in big, slow, _exaggerated _breaths. Even if Shulk’s panic had mostly subsided, it was still immensely helpful in alleviating his anxious tension.

Still neither of them said anything. It was like, for whatever could have been said out loud was sequestered into series of gentle expressions and circumspect eyebrow lilts. Dunban still brushed his thumb soothingly over Shulk’s knuckles, and Shulk still let out the odd shuddering breath and kept rubbing at his face even though it was dry already.

Even if Dunban was doing magnificently at being his anchor, Shulk’s mind was elsewhere. On Zanza, specifically – he was _definitely_ sure he’d heard the voice try to calm him down whilst he was hyperventilating.

Shulk was now fully prepared to call it quits on his little ignoring thing, because he was _grateful_. He was grateful to the voice for placating him, and even if it chipped at and roughly sanded around the edges of his tattered pride, he still wanted to say thank you.

“It’s my seat, my desk we’re sitting at,” Shulk said weakly. Dunban’s eyes flit over to the organised disaster that he’d foregone noticing when he’d squatted there and hummed.

“I recognise some of these sketches,” he began, using his other hand to flick through the top few papers on the neatest looking stack. “Especially this one. I think I still have it on my _wall- _I believe they photocopied it and gave it to all of the Monado testers.”

Apprehensively, Shulk leaned forward to look at the one Dunban was motioning at. It was one of his earliest drawings, where in trying and failing to draw a perfect circle for the glass in the middle, he’d outlined a black hole crazy enough to spark the idea that there were multiple layers of glass through the sword’s centre. It was purely by accident he’d found it too, but the dumbfounded look on Dickson’s face when he showed him was totally worth lying about it.

“In order to try and control the Monado,” Dunban went on, “I need to be stronger. I need to be able to handle the pressure.” He looked at Shulk, whose startled expression elicited from him a small chuckle. “And I fully believe you will be the key to helping us with it.”

Shulk heard a far-away scoff, and his automatic response was to nervously chew the inside of his cheek.

“R-really?”

“Really,” Dunban confirmed, eyes set and riveted, and it gave Shulk a boost of confidence he thought to have been abandoned in the pits of his sinking stomach. “I don’t know much about the technological side of this, but I know you’ve worked hard on it- I feel like giving some of these a read might help.”

“I mean it might,” Shulk added as he chewed his cheek, and released Dunban’s hand to scuttle forwards and shuffle through stray blueprints. “But you don’t wanna read the consolidated stuff- here, have a look at this handle concept diagram, it might give you ideas on how to hold it or something.”

The pair discussed Monado-tactics for another twelve and a half minutes until it hit Shulk with the deadly force of being smattered against the wall in a conversation lull. Dunban was distracting him with something he enjoyed; keeping his mind off of what happened. It was working, and he was relaxing, slowly, but he also knew they couldn’t avoid the subject forever.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted and pulled his knees up to his chest so he could bury his face in them. “I didn’t _mean_ for that to-”

“I know, and it’s okay,” Dunban replied almost instantly with a small smile that was soft and empathetic. “Trust me, I know how it feels.”

Shulk was dubious. “You do?”

“I do.” His face fell, pinched and homing in on a blank, empty space to the right of Shulk’s head. “Sometimes, when I’m practicing with the Monado- or going out on a dangerous mission, my mind is clouded by negativity. I always try to be an optimist, in any situation, but when the pessimism and the fear of leaving Fiora or you or my home behind gets to me, it makes me lose my _mind._”

Shulk was appropriately _floored._ Dunban was ferociously brave and undaunted. But… Dunban _shared_ his misgivings – and yet for infinitely more noble reasons. Dunban was anxious about the fates of his loved ones he’d hurt if he left them, and Shulk?

Shulk didn’t even know what he was worrying about sometimes.

Dunban was revered as a god among men; the fiercest warrior the Bionis had seen, and yet a caring, loving brother and family figure. Despite Shulk not sharing his blood, he treated the boy as if he were his own. To the boy with no memory of his parents, and an emotionally absent guardian, this meant nothing but the world.

Dunban was Shulk’s _hero._

“With that being said, the gravity of mine, or anybody else’s battles does _not, _minimise your own pain,” he said firmly. “You are so very precious to me, and I want to do whatever I can to help. If there’s anything I can do, or if there’s something you want to get off of your chest, you can tell me. I’m here for you, Shulk.”

Shulk burst into tears. He didn’t want to be different anymore, dealing with knowing he was different from others and knowing they had what he used to have- days of normalcy and silence was really hard. Dunban offering to alleviate this was a small relief he didn’t want to indulge in.

“I hate it, I hate _everything! _Everything’s so wrong and I don’t know what to do…” he sobbed and agitatedly rubbed at his face again. “I… I don’t know what to _say.”_

Dunban’s was silent. Then said, “You don’t have to tell me anything. Whenever you feel comfortable saying something whatever it is, I’ll be here to listen. But for now…” He stretched the crick in his back. “…we can just sit here.”

Shulk sniffled and nodded, looking up at him, eyes watering. Dunban’s heart melted at the sight of the poor struggling child and had to resist every urge that screamed at him to give the boy another hug- but no, he needed space.

A calm silence sat in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos unravelling in their minds.

“Will you be okay by yourself if I step out for a bit? I don’t want to overwhelm you, plus I need to go and find Dickson before he hears the wrong side of the story and does something stupid. He really cares about you, you know? He just has a hard time showing it.”

Shulk nodded with the ghost of a smile, not daring to say anything aloud. Dickson was the least of his troubles, he trembled at the consequences of- when _Fiora_ found out.

Dunban’s face was loving as he stood up and ruffled Shulk’s hair, and the sentiment never faded even when he walked out of the door and marched up the stairs. It made Shulk smile, but it also made him think.

Maybe Dunban wasn’t so undaunted after all.

* * *

Shulk was spread eagle over his cluttered desk, head lightly thudding against the chipped wood. Dunban had been gone five minutes and he had still yet to reach out to Zanza.

Those five minutes felt like seven hours. Why didn’t he say anything? Was it nervousness? Was it the near-suffocating tension? Was it a severe apprehension to speak with the being that had so distastefully infringed on his daily life? In all likelihood, it was all of the above, but clarifying it didn’t really make it all that easier.

Shulk had never really been all that adept at starting conversations to begin with and talking to the intimidating voice in his head that had been harassing him for months felt like an infinitely more difficult task.

He simmered in an uncomfortable silence, daintily tracing the letters that embellished the details of his sketches and Monado-dioramas, until he couldn’t take it anymore and slammed his fist on the desk.

“I’d- I’d like to talk to you,” he choked out, eyes scanning the room precariously like someone would jump out and criticise him talking to himself. “I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

The voice scoffed again. _‘Your apology is _**_not _**_accepted.’_

Usually Shulk would have been deterred – or even completely derailed, but instead he felt vindicated. “That’s fine. Y’know sometimes, I fight with myself on whether you’re real or not- but now, more than ever, I really think you _are_ and you have feelings, so-I wanna say sorry for hurting them, but also thank you.”

It didn’t say anything, not even a disgruntled grunt of disapproval like Shulk was so used to hearing. It was a little unsettling, but he pressed on before he lost his nerve.

“For what you did today, I mean. That’s why I’m thanking you.” He pulled his knees up to his chest, boring down on his jeans as if they would behold the secrets to not screwing up this conversation if he incinerated them with his eyes.

“I know that, that my worry and anxiousness can get the better of me sometimes. I don’t… I don’t get like _that _very often- but… but thank you for pulling me out of it. I don’t know what’dve happened if it weren’t for you.”

The steely silence continued, and Shulk felt a little awkward, baring himself vulnerable to a seemingly non-corporeal entity, and he hugged himself as he shivered.

“I ignored you because I was scared,” his voice was weak, “because I didn’t know what to do. I… I hate change. I hoped if I ignored you I could maintain…” he trailed off and plunged his face into his knees. “…I could keep some semblance of my sanity.”

Shulk quivered as he fought the tears that tempted his cheeks.

_‘Anxiety,’ _Zanza eventually began, _‘comes in many forms. It can be a source of fear, sickness, procrastination… or pain. An affliction which has disturbed many generations of species over an endless scale of time. Don’t think you’re somehow unique because of it.’_

Shulk pondered this for a moment, and mumbled into his knees. “You seem to know your stuff, and you keep calling yourself a god. I’d sure hope you being here makes me unique- I can’t imagine many other people hear what I'm hearing.”

_‘I am the one and only god of the Bionis,’ _Zanza said with grandeur. _‘You should feel _**_blessed _**_that I have graced you with my magnificent presence.’_

Shulk certainly didn’t feel very blessed. More than anything he wished Zanza would go _away, _but he had somewhat come to terms with it now, especially after what it had done for him.

“I’m happy, at least, that you helped me back there. You could’ve just let me hyperventilate ‘till I passed out, so it’s nice to know you care.”

_‘Don’t be absurd,’ _it snapped. _‘I couldn’t care less about your feeble body. Your loud, pathetic breathing was getting on my nerves.’_

The corners of Shulk’s mouth twitched into a bleak smile. This was something he was used to at least. “My bad. It was such a homs-like gesture that I got confused.”

By this, the self-proclaimed god was outraged. _‘Insolence! I hope you aren’t implying what I think you are, you little wretch.’_

Shulk didn’t like to think about it all that much. The unbelievable concept of an actual _god_ being in his head was far too much for him to handle, and much easier to sweep under rug for later, _much later _consideration.

Still, providing that Zanza wasn’t a product of his own mind and was indeed the separate godly entity that it claimed to be, wouldn’t it know about the Monado?

The young blond whirled around in his wheelie-chair to contemplatively admire the sword as it glistened brightly from its pedestal.

Zanza seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and hummed in that exasperated way he always did when he was about to tall Shulk how wrong he was. _‘That sword is more powerful than you could ever imagine, brat.’_

“Is that why it destroys anyone who tries to use it?” Shulk mulled over and lightly danced his fingers along the edge of his desk, then kicked away to glide across the floor to the base of the pedestal. “Why some people are better at controlling it than others?”

_‘Of course,’ _Zanza said egotistically. _‘The ether waves emitted by the Monado are not only tremendously powerful, but also of a different frequency than that naturally emitted by Homs.’_

“A different frequency? What does that mean?”

_‘The type, the _ ** _quality_ ** _. Homs are inferior beings and cannot compete with divinity. They cannot hope to synchronise with the sheer amount it exudes.’_

It was so _weird, _having an amicable conversation with the Zanza that had terrorised him for months, but Shulk’s curiosity, his fixation with the Monado outweighed his misgivings. “The… what’s the difference between ether regulation in Homs and the Monado?”

Zanza didn’t respond immediately, and Shulk worried he’d overstepped his boundaries before he heard the voice softly say, _‘It’s… foreign to the Homs body. Not entirely different, as Homs were made from the Bionis, but… that isn’t the issue- it’s the elongated periods of time. Repeated exposure to foreign wavelengths will corrupt and disturb one’s homeostasis, and eventually render a body unable to function.’_

Shulk jerked up in his chair and gave the Monado a frightened look like he’d been told it was sentient and about to assassinate him. “Wh-_what?! _Then Dunban, I have to stop Dunban from using it! I thought he would be fine but that means if he keeps using it, it’ll kill him, right?!”

There was a beat of silence and Shulk slapped a palm on the pedestal to keep him from falling off his chair in alarm.

_‘…yes.’ _it quickly countered, sensing Shulk’s rapidly heightening tension._ ‘But- it’s the same with anything which inflicts minor damage. Going outside on a hot day is fine, but if you stand under the scorching sun for hours on end you’ll eventually get skin cancer.’_

This broke Shulk out of his distress. “Can-_what?_ What’s cancer? Is that the headache I get when in the sun?”

Zanza paused for a moment before grumbling. _‘No it’s… never you mind. It doesn’t exist anymore anyway. I made sure of that.’_

Shulk thought better not to question it. Not only to prevent aggravating the seemingly placated god, but because Dunban swept back into the room with all the force that slammed the door he’d entered from. The blond jumped ten feet in the air and slipped from his chair, ending up in a twisted heap.

Dunban blinked down on him, and his face twitched in that way that educated Shulk that he was desperately trying not to laugh, to which he scowled at.

“You… you _scared _me.”

“My apologies,” Dunban said with all the calm of an actor trained in keeping his composure in the face of utter hilarity. “I was just coming to say–”

The soon-to-be-general never got to finish what he was going to say because the door blasted open once again to reveal a hot-footed Fiora with the stormiest expression on her face Shulk had ever seen. It elicited an instant fear response and he flinched when he flocked straight to him and wrapped him up in a warm hug.

“Oh, _Shulk! _Are you okay? I heard what happened,” she leaned back and cradled his terrified face, then evaluated his position. “Wait, why are you on the floor?”

Dunban placed a firm hand on her shoulder which she was unable to shuck off, “Don’t crowd him Fiora, he’s had a rough day and just needs a bit of rest.”

She turned back to Dunban and gave him a coarse look, the identical one Dunban shot in response made Shulk shiver at the striking family resemblance and the unnerving shared ability to give displeased looks that made you break out into a cold sweat and divulge everything.

After what seemed to be a perilous war of the minds, Shulk now being 100% convinced the pair had this weird sibling telepathic link, Fiora relented with a heavy sigh, but still hauled Shulk back onto the chair and gave him another tight hug.

“Yeah, right, you need space after you… yeah. Um, sorry…”

Shulk, by this point was used to being excessively mollycoddled by both Dunban and Fiora, and just smiled it off despite the machine gun fire-rate of his heartbeat. “It’s fine. I’m feeling a lot better now anyway.”

A few minutes later, Reyn barrelled in with a white face and demanded to know the whole story, who was then followed surprisingly, by Dickson.

Until recently, Shulk’s relationship with Dickson had been tenuous. As a teacher in mechanical engineering, Dickson was amazing- an engaging instructor with excellent ideas and a questionable work ethic that permitted Shulk’s late night cramming, often joining him- with little repercussions providing they weren’t caught the next morning.

As a guardian though, Dickson was distant and moderately indifferent. Yet it didn’t bother Shulk as much as it should have since he had others who filled that role, and he had learned to identify when Dickson was out of his depth when showing care for others. Which was almost all the time.

Yet over the past few months since Shulk had gotten back from the hospital, he’d been unpredictably considerate, or at least made a noticeable effort to start being there for Shulk, something that had taken a hot minute to fully process. Dickson was _trying, _and it meant a lot to Shulk.

After Reyn backed off, Dickson sauntered over and leaned on the table next to Shulk as Dunban ushered the other two teens out of the room. Shulk looked up at Dickon owlishly.

“Y’know,” the old man began, flicking at his lighter even though his cigar was already lit, a nervous tick Shulk had noticed he had. “These anxious spells of yours have happened to a lot of people over time.”

“So I've heard,” Shulk concurred, eyes following the smoke as it twirled upwards into the lab’s vents. He pivoted in his seat until he was facing his guardian and opened his mouth but was then interrupted.

_‘You should tell Dickson of my presence,’ _Zanza cut in with a sharp voice that had a forceful edge to it which unsettled Shulk a bit. He bit his tongue on his words.

Dickson hummed to fill the silence. “You’re clever Shulk. You’re talented and smart- and special. At times you remind me of an amazing man I once knew. He was brilliant, but also had his moments where he over thought things due to a… unique condition he had.”

Shulk turned to Dickson and wrapped a limp hug around the man’s legs, which the elder man blinked at before awkwardly ruffling the kid’s messy hair.

_‘A _**_man?!_**_’ _Zanza spat, seemingly enraged for reasons unknown and mostly ignored by Shulk, _‘I take it back. This man is a _**_traitor_** _and a _**_fraud.’_**

* * *

Shulk didn’t end up telling Dickson, much to the intense and _egregious_ grievances of Zanza, who retaliated by endlessly reiterating the idea day in day out- but the thought of telling anyone, _especially _Dickson terrified Shulk to the bone.

And so Shulk denied the voice at every presented opportunity. This didn’t _annoy_ Zanza per se, usually eliciting a heavy sigh and a slew of incoherent mumbling which often faded into white noise.

In turn, it displayed some of the _extraordinary_ intelligence it perpetually gloated about and changed tactics, opting to experiment with both pushing Shulk’s buttons and prodding at his mental state. Unlike before however, it seemed to sense when he was going too far and backed off before Shulk had a mental breakdown. Which was appreciated.

Though, there must be some truth in the art of subliminal messaging, as Shulk often found himself toying with the idea of spilling his secret as 3am insomnia-fuel when science couldn’t power him anymore.

The resultant of this- acute sleep deprivation that frazzled his head and skewed his ability to be as efficient when working or training; he was super tired all the time. Truly, he just couldn’t win.

He’d gotten fairly competent at hiding the dark bags and accompanying fatigue, but it all fell through when he woke up three hours late to training and under the shadow of a petulant Dunban, folded arms and all.

“Tell me Shulk,” his voice was not angry but instead curious and littered with humour. “What are you doing, _in bed, _at two in the afternoon?”

The blond’s eyelids fluttered as he adjusted to the light, and he detached his tongue from the roof of his mouth in order to grunt, “…sleeping.”

Dunban chuckled as Shulk lethargically pulled the covers that Dunban had stolen from him back over his head. “I see. It’s good to see you getting some rest, but perhaps you shouldn’t be sleeping when you have prior engagements, hmm? Like training?”

The thought of doing any amount of exercise was a sour one that lathered his bones in a thick layer of pain. He shivered and Dunban continued to find amusement at his expense.

Not wanting a lecture however, he reluctantly rolled over to face Dunban, who was cross legged on his desk chair- the thoughtful look that Shulk had seen often recently was back.

Shulk bit his lip and fidgeted uncomfortably. “Umm, I’m sorry I overslept, I guess my alarm didn’t go off… again…”

“No it did, it was ringing when I got up here. You were sleeping right through it.” Dunban seemed to be warring with himself on whether to start something or not. It wasn’t until Shulk had wriggled out of his covers and plodded over to his wardrobe that Dunban brought up, “… are you not sleeping very well? You still look tired even after sleeping in this late.”

The concept of lying didn’t even occur to Shulk. “Mmm no I haven’t.”

Dunban tilted his head in an inclination for him to continue. “Why’s that you think? Something on your mind?”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about whether I should tell you something or not.”

Dunban was silent and there would have been no sound in the room if not for the rhythmic, grounding clicking of Dunban’s metallic boot-heel.

Zanza snorted, which served as a wake-up call akin to being doused in a bucket of ice-water, _‘I thought you weren’t going to tell anyone.’_

Terrified, Shulk’s back impossibly straightened as he processed what he’d confessed to in his sleepy stupor. “Um…!” He distracted. “What, what did I miss in training today?”

Dunban rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “Well… Lieutenant Colonel Vangarre was promoted to Colonel. That was a slow and agonising fight I’m sure you’re glad you missed.”

Shulk chuckled a little awkwardly and entwined his fingers together en lieu of biting his nails. “Maybe. What about Lieutenant Colonel Kantz?”

Dunban hummed, and started making Shulk’s bed, which was less an attempted act of cleanliness but a warning for Shulk to not get back in it. “He decided not to go for it again, he’s turning 40 this year and all of a sudden doesn’t feel up to it.”

“That’s probably a lie cooked up by Suzanna to keep him home more often,” Shulk smiled. “How old is Moritz now, like 7?”

“Indeed. Though the man is already a very doting father, even if he spends a lot of time at work.”

There was a languid silence, before Dunban sighed and said, “I was thinking about you earlier, when I was training with the Monado.”

Shulk winced as he recalled Zanza’s warning. “Do… do you think you should be using the Monado so much? I… I mean it’s gotta hurt, right?”

Dunban’s brow furrowed and he surveyed Shulk guardedly. “Whether it _hurts _me is neither here nor there really, the most important thing is whether I can use it to save our people.”

Shulk knew this, of course, it was the same reply Dunban had whenever Fiora grilled him about it. The hardest part was arguing against him because deep down, Shulk knew he was right. He just selfishly didn’t want Dunban destroying himself.

“And anyway it would be pretty bad if I gave up using it now, especially since I’ve just been promoted to General.”

His words came as such a shock that Shulk dropped everything he was holding and slowly turned to stare at the man in awe. “You did?! You- _how could I forget that was today!?”_

“Because Fiora forbade you from attending,” Dunban smirked, tone an air of nonchalance. “In fact, it was done in private anyway, because the Monado was involved.”

Shulk hid guiltily in the shirt he was about to put on. He felt so _ashamed. _“I'm so _sorry_, I can’t believe I slept through it I even had this on my _calendar_-”

Unexpectedly, Dunban strolled over and wrapped Shulk in a small hug. Shulk just blinked awkwardly before burying his face into Dunban’s shirt. “Mm sorry...”

“Stop apologising. You should know by now I’d much rather you slept and were healthy than attended something so dull. You’re more important than that Shulk.”

Slowly, Shulk raised his head to look Dunban in the eyes. Dunban’s face was calm and soft, his eyes round and full of life in a way Shulk wished he would look. The tenderness of his touch and gentle tone of his voice was soothing, even though Shulk was unbelievably tense and seconds away from tears.

He hadn't been able to relax at all recently, if not in close proximity to a loved one, he had too many things clouding his mind, thieving his attention.

Even if the voice’s presence wasn’t the direct problem anymore, the strain of keeping the secret was arguably worse. He just needed a _break._

In the midst of his emotional disorder, came a rush of clarity. He could trust Dunban, _would_ trust him with his _life._

“Dunban!” Shulk’s voice was hoarse but sharp, and he gripped the man’s lapels like he’d never gripped anything before. “You… you- I need to tell you… but _please-_ you can’t tell anyone. You _can’t.”_

Dunban blinked in an attempt not to look bewildered, before steeling his gaze and nodding firmly.

Shulk took a deep breath and gulped.

“I… there’s… I have… Dunban there’s a voice in my head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reason this is a baby bit longer is because it was supposed to be part of chapter four, but i realised it was already at almost 5k words and i was supposed to be cutting things dammit not adding them. its also why it all takes place at once and even though there are line breaks, it all happens within the span of about an hour and a half. 
> 
> i wish i could be clear and concise and then everything will be a reasonable length. one day i’ll learn, which will be the day i apply it to my university work and finally get a first on an essay. so never is what that means. sigh.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!


	6. atypical monotony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zanza is something that Shulk has learned to live with. Now the next step is the Monado; a disaster waiting to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'm just gonna edit the first few chapters, maybe shorten them and clean up the mistakes
> 
> also me: no six chapters
> 
> me: wait what

_Chapter Six - atypical monotony_

The dramatic episode of Shulk spilling his heart out to Dunban had an aftermath of about seven different mental breakdowns encompassing his internalised implications of what he’d done. These oscillated between being completely outcast from Colony 9 and being forced to live in seclusion in the ruins of what had once been Colony 8, to instantaneous death- spurred on by nothing but Shulk’s own dread.

Surprisingly, Zanza hadn't ridiculed him about his usually ‘_puerile’ _or ‘_unintelligent’_ choices; the former being a word he had to look up in a dictionary- and kept mum on his opinions when Shulk mumbled aloud from stress. It slightly weirded the mechanic out but acquiesced in that it was nought but a benefit to him.

Unsurprisingly, Dunban had been nothing short of wonderful about everything. He had listened calmly, been very understanding, and not threatened to banish Shulk like he so adamantly believed. At first, Dunban’d had his reservations on keeping it a close-knit secret from everyone, but after seeing the way Shulk’s face crumpled- he didn’t have the heart to press it again.

Not that Shulk didn’t trust Dunban- far, _far _from it, but he was happy to see the brunet had kept his word when no-one came battering down his front door the next day; both Dickson and Fiora would have imploded in on themselves if they had known and Reyn was yet unable to comprehend the phrase ‘keeping a secret’.

Furthermore, Dunban went the extra mile in expressing his sympathy. He would always keep an eye on the boy when tightly packed in crowded places or when he was looking overwhelmed, and always soothed him and asked if there was anything he could help with. Truly, Shulk could have not been more blessed than to have Dunban in his life.

Dickson, who was also wise beyond his years, attempted to help out with the anxiety thing by striking up a ‘distraction conversation’ every so often. Shulk twigged onto this because Zanza lapsed into a major funk whenever it happened.

Conversely, Zanza would whine whenever he was brought up in conversations with Dunban- though his usual spiel of ‘telling Dickson’ holding far less water than it once had, and he eventually gave in when he realised Shulk was comfortable with the way he was and was decidedly _not _telling his father-figure.

Soon came Shulk’s fourteenth birthday, and though Reyn had thankfully _not _almost blown up the colony this time- he instead shorted out the entirety of the ether power system in the residential and commercial districts (thankfully the military district had back-up power.)

The incident, now affectionally named the ‘Birthday Blackout’ was Reyn’s crude attempt of fireworks that backfired into a total loss of power for two-thirds of the colony that lasted almost three hours. Not only were Shulk, Reyn and Fiora banned from being within ten feet of the central mainframe again, but they had to spend the remainder of Shulk’s 14th trying to amend the crisis. Even amidst his deep shame that the incident had somehow topped his previous disaster birthdays, when with everyone, he felt the happiest he’d been in a long while.

Even if his mood had greatly improved, his bad habits remained. One day he had woken up in a particularly rough mood- the corollary of a pounding headache, and ignored Dickson’s persistent worrying through the locked door in favour of melting into his duvet cover. This was unable to stop the old man, who ended up kicking the door clean off its hinges to get in.

If anything, it had woken Shulk up- a rare feat Dickson revelled in.

Shulk was shirking on work, _again, _and Dickson had overtaken the mantle from Dunban on reprimanding his son about it.

After Dickson ingloriously propped the battered door against the frame, he turned to Shulk. He seemed to be dancing along the lines of asking whether the kid was okay or scolding him for skipping work to sleep during the day.

Ultimately, he tilted his head and air rushed out of his nose. “You got a reason to be lazing around when you should be working or am I going to have to drag you out of there by the foot?”

Shulk gasped in mock-outrage and curled his feet up to his chest to avoid being manhandled. “Can my reason be I can’t be bothered, or will that sentence me to an early demise?”

That caused a rare smile to quirk on Dickson’s face. “Most definitely. You know, we actually send lazy, incompetents like you off to Colony Eight to dwell in solitude for the rest of their days. Though maybe you’d prefer the lack of responsibility.”

Shulk’s shoulders vibrated with laughter but the strain it caused made him wince and fall back into his pillow from the pain in his temple.

Dickson raised an eyebrow and leaned forward to lightly temper his surrogate son's forehead. He didn’t feel any prickly heat, in fact, Shulk was a tad colder than usual- usual being an actual danger to Homs health.

Among the dizzying list of medications Dickson had received when Shulk was diagnosed with ether-deficiency, were fire-ether supplements to combat low body temperatures. For whatever reason (that Dickson knew and wasn’t willing to share), Shulk’s body temperature was abnormally low- a common precedent of hypothermia in most others. All Shulk typically suffered was icy fingers and toes during the winter, but his doctor was _convinced_ he’d die without his medication.

Zanza piped up again about informing Dickson, then proceeded to badger him about it in the outward silence, but Shulk was lost in his thoughts.

The attention Dickson was now bestowing was something Shulk was growing comfortable with. The elder mechanic would now smile and they often deviated onto long talks about topics that extended past the limits of Homs comprehension- like the flavour of the colour yellow or the existence of life beyond the Bionis or Mechonis. It was dumb, and it was stupid, but it was their dynamic.

Mumkhar had even once let slip that during Shulk’s gravest sickness when he was eleven, the whole colony had trembled under Dickson’s anger, fearing he was close to blowing up the settlement in a mixed rage and panic for what most deemed to be his son’s health. Despite the implications, it filled the boy with a warm glow.

Three days prior, Shulk had come down with his third bout of ether sickness that year and had curled up on Dickson’s much larger bed in the room adjacent to his, groaning loudly and apologising profusely for forgetting to take his pills- yet the man had surprisingly let the boy sleep there- after admonishing him.

Dickson was just like that though, when it came to Shulk’s health he turned into hyper-parent.

That day, Dickson had commanded a small squad back into Tephra Cave for his second scour for an elusive fig tree. Shulk had vehemently opposed going with them, still avoiding Tephra Cave like it contained contaminated air- plus the picture Dickson showed him looked like a manky vegetable which furthered his resolve for it to not be unearthed. He shivered to imagine Fiora getting her mitts on it because her cooking had become mildly amazing over the course of the past few months. He still had dreams about the magnificent cake she baked and he mostly ate for his 14th.

Dickson leaned forward and ruffled up Shulk’s already awry hair, and smirked a somehow comforting smirk, making an offhand remark about his ether sickness medication and how Bright Figs didn’t even taste very nice and had been a _complete waste of his time and resources. _

Apparently only Mumkhar seemed to like them and had taken the entire haul to no one’s detriment.

Shulk had his covers stolen from him once again and received a clip behind the ear in return with a commandment to get changed and get to work.

* * *

Eventually, partnered with a guttural groan, Shulk dragged himself out of bed and across the military district, garnering a few dark looks from the older practicing soldiers that he was too frazzled to be offended by.

The lab was empty again, a probable bad sign Shulk didn’t want to process the meaning of, and he threw himself into his new chair- this one beautifully adorned with a backrest that he got from Dean for his birthday.

Fingers itching, he fished out a wad of paper and rolled an abandoned pen out from under his desk with his feet- then let his scientific mind take over.

He needed to decipher a way to better his legion of Anti-Mechon rifle ammunition so they could fully pierce Mechon armour. Unfortunately, he had yet to come across a material strong enough to do so. The only thing that was able to damage it… was the Monado.

The Monado beheld a bright blue, shimmering beam of light- in reality ether particles; so strong they took form visible to the naked eye. So far, Shulk had developed ether-charged bullets, readily fired from rifles that could _damage _Mechon armour- just not at a high enough velocity to fully penetrate it.

Staring impassively at his blank page, Shulk huffed and twirled to look at the Monado, which had decided to start glittering with ether again- something which happened often and for no apparent reason.

A dangerous thought struck him, and fell from his mouth as he deliberated aloud. “What if… we removed a tiny portion of the Monado and slotted that into another weapon? Theoretically, it could start emitting the same wavelengths the Monado does, or whatever it was you were on about last month.”

The idea seemed to thoroughly horrify Zanza. _‘Absolutely _**_not!_**_ First of all, no it wouldn’t because that’s not how ether works, and _**_second_**_\- you dare have another thought about reconstructing my sword and I will personally ensure you suffer a miserable fate of never sleeping again for as long as you live. Do _**_not _**_think I won’t know about this, do I make myself clear?!’_

Shulk popped a stick of gum (birthday gift from Reyn who blew his money on gunpowder) into his mouth and chewed absently. “Crystal,” he muttered.

Zanza’s obsession with the Monado bordered on Shulk levels of intensity. The god avoided talking about himself with a wide berth of complete and utter infinity, but never missed the chance to chime in with often useful titbits on how the sword operated. From them Shulk would try to gauge the connection between the mysterious sword and the ever-more mysterious voice but came up short from lack of material.

He wanted to try and weasel the truth out of Zanza but it was very tight-lipped about it. That didn’t mean he didn’t _try_.

“Mmm,” he said coyly between chews- something he knew irritated the god beyond belief. “You’re very protective over the Monado. And you know a lot about it- mind filling me in on your connection to it?”

The voice in his head swore, and deigned silence for a few moments before replying, _‘…No. My connection to the Monado has nothing to do with…’ _he stopped himself with a little huff, before trying again, _‘Right now it is none of your concern.’_

Shulk was awful at blowing bubbles, but did so anyway because it made Zanza complain about him being a ‘delinquent’ and it was fun to annoy him. “If you say so, though I can’t imagine, y’know, being the god of the Bionis and all, you’d be all that pleased when the Mechon invade and kill us all because we couldn’t fend them off.”

Zanza swore again, his temper rising. _‘Don’t be smart with me, brat, I don’t like your attitude. Your cynicism and bleak sarcasm have turned you quite unagreeable when you are not crying like a pitiful newborn.’_

Ignoring the jab, Shulk snorted. “I get it from you. You complain about everything from ether prices to the weather. Maybe if you didn’t feel the need to chime in about every little thing that happens in my life I wouldn’t be.”

Zanza hissed out a third swear, even more profane than the last. _‘Do _**_not_** _undermine me. If I were the only ailing factor then it certainly wouldn’t have evoked such a drastic change in you.’_

Turning around, Shulk spat his gum into the bin as it had lost all its flavour. He resumed chewing, just instead on his tongue. “I think I’m just growing up. Puberty, as Dickson says. That or I'm just slowly going insane.”

_‘Perhaps. Though, if there is one thing that you are not Shulk, it is delusional.’_

Shulk laughed to himself, thoughts encompassing how a literal voice in his head could say that to him without somehow destroying the Matrix he was very clearly trapped in. He reached up and trailed his hand across the red blade’s mantle, feeling the cool whatever-material curve under his fingertips. He made a silent wish that one day he would be able to unlock the secrets it beheld.

The recurring myth that haunted his dreams was the one about the Monado really being the sword used by the Bionis itself- and was furthered by Zanza’s possessiveness of it. This thought made him extraordinarily nauseous whenever it wormed its way into his fragile psyche because the implications utterly eviscerated everything he knew about everything and he much preferred naïveté to _that_.

_‘Distracted again?’_

“It’s like… like I’m drawn to it,” Shulk whispered.

Zanza chuckled, the sound so foreign it made Shulk shiver. _‘The Monado is a divine sword capable of disturbing the very fabric of existence. Of both the material and the immaterial.’_

Shulk shuddered again, hands twitching instinctively from the blade and onto the glass, tracing the ‘machine’ symbol with a finger- the hum of ether a light pressure flowing to his fingertip.

_‘I've said this before, but the Monado emits a very specific, almost peculiar wavelength- even now in its ground state. It’s like a magnetic field, drawing in everything on Bionis. It’s probably why you can’t keep your mind or your _ ** _hands _ ** _off of it.’_

“So wait, synchronising. If I changed the Monado’s wave- oh that wouldn’t work, if I changed _my _ether wavelength so it matched the Monado- I could control it?” He articulated, gaze misting over as he dropped his hand to glare at it, wishing ether would spontaneously spring from it.

_‘…Theoretically.’_

Shulk clicked his tongue, mind racing. “Theories are great and all, but useless if not put into practice. I don’t think many Homs are capable of doing that.”

Zanza remained silent.

“Does… does that mean Dunban will really never fully master the Monado? It’s… it’s slowly killing him, and I want to find a way for him to use it, to protect us without it destroying his insides.”

_‘…I wouldn’t know.’_

Shulk doubted that very much, but let the matter go.

He brought his hand back up, this time to encircle the handle. Gently, he positioned his small, eager hand on the cool metal like it was somehow designed to fit there.

On late, distracted nights, Dickson would sometimes ramble on about a perilous retrieval mission, and how Shulk had been the sole survivor, found all alone- directly under the Monado. He retained no memory of his life prior to being recovered, but having lost his biological family in the incident, he sometimes indulged in the selfish delusion they had left it there for him.

This perfidious impulse struck gold when watching Dunban struggle performing basic drills with the Monado; a bitter, jealous feeling that he intensely derided would curl in his gut and eat away at him.

Denial, he’d found, was the major key in absolving this; Shulk was a stupid, lanky teenager with very limited combat experience, and Dunban a war general renowned for his excellence in everything. The frank notion that the Monado should be _his _was cruel egoism he would gladly disregard.

Shulk got the hesitant impression that Zanza was thinking pretty hard about something. Expecting some sort of insult like usual, what Zanza came out with threw him for a complete loop that circled around the entire Bionis and back again.

_‘If you really don’t want Dunban using it, you should try it instead,’ _the god said quietly.

Shulk could have felt his brain slip silently out of his head. “You’re… you’re _kidding, _right?”

_‘You think me the type to jest? I sense your desire to use it far outweighs your claim to help Dunban master it,’ _Zanza ground out.

Boldly, Shulk opened his mouth to argue back, but the words fizzled out at the bleak realisation that the god wasn’t _technically_ wrong. And he _hated _that. His blood vacillated between burning dizzyingly warm and stone cold, but his brain spurned every traitorous desire that secretly thrilled at the prospect.

“Don’t… don’t be silly, I’m… well, _me. _I can’t control ether- I barely even _have_ _any. _I am quite literally the last person who would be able to control the Monado- you must be trying to get me killed.”

_‘Ordinarily, that would be the case.’ _Zanza tsked, voice lilting like the god was smiling broadly despite the impossibility. _‘But you are not alone. It _**_is _**_my sword after all, I can take care of the difficult part- if you promise not to reject me again.’_

Shulk had absolutely no clue what that meant, but the coursing excitement was too overpowering of a force to rival and he deftly submitted to its power.

He pulled the brightly coloured blade from the stand and stared at it with wide, curious eyes. Tentatively, he drew in a haphazard breath and gnawed away at his lip, knuckles slowly bleeding white from his tense death grip.

Anyone could do this, he needed to activate it to get results. He knew how to do this, he’d seen Dunban do it enough times. Turning around, he scarcely knocked the blade on the pedestal before it erupted into a sea of blue light.

It _hurt. _Hurt like_ hell. _Hurt like all fiery, blood-curling, gut-punching, bone-crushing _hell._

It was colossal pressure. that crushed him from every conceivable angle, a mystical verve that battered against the thin defences of his skin as it tried to get inside and churn all his organs to paste. Shulk was rarely subject to ether attacks, but it felt like that- only magnified ten hundred thousand times.

It was so overwhelming that Shulk was only able to hold the sword for about three seconds before his hands spasmed and it clattered to the floor. Though releasing it did nothing to mollify the bright, agonising sparks; an ether so powerful it manifested as a sharp electric impulse that dominated his body- shooting straight through his muscles.

He screamed; the sudden shock was _unbearable_. It ruthlessly tore through his legs, which immediately gave way and he collapsed on the hard wooden floor.

Obscured by white flashes of electricity, Shulk’s vision clouded over but he had no power to close his eyes as he convulsed on the floor. He couldn’t feel it, or see it, but he knew he was crying by the dull sting in his eyes.

He kept screaming, as the cloudy haze before him began to form visceral shapes that flashed briefly before his eyes- gone as quick as they’d appeared. They hadn't needed to be there for long though, for the ghastliest image Shulk had ever borne witness to burn itself into his mind.

Time slowed to a stop; the grisly image tortured him more than the subsident pain in his body ever could. It exploited his senses and nullified his bones until he could do naught but exist to experience the horrific flash of Dunban’s death over and over.

He was still screaming.

He might have been there for minutes, or hours- he wouldn’t know. The next thing he was conscious of as the image faded was warm arms wrapped around him and the feeling of being gently swayed from side to side. He couldn’t open his eyes, motor functions not yet restored where his senses mostly had.

Two voices were having a conversation; time revealed them to be Dickson and Dunban. The conversation grew louder as his hearing returned, and he cracked his eyes open to see Dunban’s white, worried face leaning over him. What would usually provoke a safe feeling, triggered a shot of dread- the empty pit in his stomach deepening until it hollowed out his whole chest. Dunban noticed this and started calling his name.

Dickson sped into view behind him, seemingly dithering in a fit of fear. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room.

Shulk tried very hard to focus on the man in front of him. Dunban was _alive, _not a crumpled heap of blood and guts strewn over a white marble pillar. The picture of Dunban’s mangled body was still there, branded into his eyes and didn’t go away even when he blinked.

A sudden rush of nausea hit him like a freight car, and all at once he regained the ability to move in order to roll over and throw up on the floor- the black vomit making a most unwelcome return.

_‘Oh dear,’ _he heard mutedly above the cries of the two men in the room, _‘I guess we’ll just have to wait a little longer then.’_

Shulk swore for the first time ever that day.

* * *

To the immense surprise of Dunban and Shulk and disproportionate relief of Dickson and Zanza, Shulk’s body recovered remarkably quickly. For maybe about three minutes was Shulk strewn awkwardly across Dunban’s lap, blinking a lot with the odd twitch of left over ether.

He was then dragged into a chair by Dickson despite Dunban’s protests and given a lazy body analysis. Shulk squirmed uncomfortably under Dickson’s beady gaze, but eventually he declared the boy to be fit and healthy minus the obvious mental scarring.

Dickson fought every urge that had been hardwired into him by Zanza thousands of years ago to pressure the boy for information- but observing Dunban from across the room and he tried to hide his nervous fidgeting helped him resist. He didn’t need them getting suspicious and blowing his cover, not now after all he’d been through.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t dying of curiosity. Dickson’s number one reason for living, was of course to facilitate the return of his Lord, his teacher, his ruler… his overlord. Of course he’d stop at nothing to accomplish this, so the reason he was hesitating was not to blow his cover.

Was what he’d convinced himself, but the nagging feeling he was forgetting something itched at the back of his mind. He elected to ignore it.

After reassuring that Shulk was alright and Dunban would look after him, Dickson failed to show his indifference when he stomped out of the development lab muttering to himself. Both Shulk and Dunban chuckled at his boisterous exit.

Dunban turned back to Shulk with a watchful stare, knowing that bombarding the teen with questions probably wasn’t the smartest idea. Shulk’s smile was hollow, and his eyes very glassy. His untrained gaze had tracked Dickson up the stairs and not wavered since he had disappeared. He just looked so far-away, so _lost, _and Dunban wanted nothing more than to bring him back.

“Are you still feeling numb?” Dunban asked earnestly, and crouched down so he and Shulk were once again eye level.

Shulk was instantly struck with the familiarity of the situation; a direct replication of how Dunban had comforted him after his panic attack a few weeks prior. Dunban’s face was still kind and gentle, with a sequestered hint of concern.

Shulk wished he wasn’t so vulnerable all the time that he _had _to be comforted by Dunban and Dickson and Fiora. _Oh._

“Please don’t tell Fiora that I…” Shulk cut himself off and his body tensed, “… did that. You know how she is about the Monado she’d _kill me-”_

“I won't tell her,” Dunban’s mouth quirked. “Though she has an uncanny ability to tell whenever I’ve used the Monado so she might just guess anyway.”

Shulk lowered his head.

“Though I say that, you’ve recovered extraordinarily well for someone of your age.”

Shulk knew that, of course. He saw the Monado every day, unable to escape the horror stories that beleaguered the sword and all but forged the tainted pedestal it stood upon. Shulk _knew _that, better than anyone else. So why did he…?

He was kidding himself, he knew exactly why.

“Did… did Zanza put you up to this?” Dunban probed, tapping on his knee absentmindedly. It made Shulk feel like he was being timed or under pressure.

“It was an accident,” he lied and balled his hand’s into fight fist. “I… I wasn’t _thinking _straight it was in my hands and then I activated it but I didn’t… I didn’t intend to-”

He cut himself off and furiously rubbed his hands through his hair. “I’m… I’m just being stupid.”

Dunban frowned, “Shulk you are _not _stupid at all, you are unbelievably clever. But you are also a teenager, and your curiosity just got the better of you.” He inclined his head toward the sword where it lay abjectly on the ground- still sparking wildly. “It lures you in and you don’t know what you’ve done until it’s too late.”

Shulk nodded numbly and lowered his head. “I’m sorry you have to keep doing this.”

Dunban started. “Doing… what?”

“Comforting me after I keep doing stupid things.”

Dunban smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair, producing a static charge that made both of them jump, then crack big wide smiles.

“I’ll always be here to comfort you, and we all make mistakes- it’s part of growing up.” He said and stood back up. “I’ll leave you a little time to yourself to discharge, I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”

Dunban trudged up the stairs slowly, one eye on Shulk the entire time until the boy left his view. After Dunban’s living presence departed, the haunting memory of his death returned and Shulk caved in on himself.

“Why… why did you suggest I do that…?” He whispered, eyes tightly closed and gripping tightly at his ankles.

_‘I overestimated you,’ _Zanza said flippantly. _‘You’re very lucky you survived.’_

“So you _are _trying to kill me,” Shulk said with disdain. “Last time I'm listening to _you _again.”

_‘Not kill you, _**_help_** _you. You are the only one able to control the Monado in such a way.’_

Shulk felt a black humour bubble in his throat. “Only me? If that’s what you call controlling it then you need a better definition.”

_‘Not **now** you imbecile, but in time. Your fragile body is not yet… mature enough to handle the quantity- not quality of ether I gave you.’_

Shulk raised his head, distracted by the loud thrashing of the Monado sparking against the floor. “You… gave…”

_‘I am the god of the Bionis, my power greatly exceeds that necessary to control the Monado.” _At Shulk’s silence Zanza tutted with a harsh sigh, ‘_Oh never mind you slow child, I can see none of this is getting through to you.’_

Shulk shook his head, trying to eject the image out of his mind, but it stuck there- branded like a precautionary measure. A warning.

“Then tell me, almighty Lord Zanza-” Shulk began, bitter and angry, “-what the hell did I just see? I feel like a had a nightmare where Dunban just died but I was _there _and it felt so _real, _like… like a_ memory.”_

There was a stifling silence that only served to anger Shulk more until Zanza hummed to himself, _‘Memory… It’s an interesting way to describe it. A memory implies a recollection of past events in the present but-’ _he hummed again, and Shulk suddenly started feeling very nervous.

_‘But more accurately it’s foresight of the future- a short vision or glimpse into what **will **come to pass, rather than what has.’_

Shulk was exceedingly confused, but going along with the absurd logic en lieu of his brain being full of blank static- Dunban wasn’t dead, he was just _here. _So what he had seen wasn’t a past memory, and was certainly not happening in real time so it must be…

“The… future?”

_‘That’s right. The future.’_

_…_

_…_

_‘…What?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is finally the end of my perfectionist bullshit. cross my heart. you can't see me can you.
> 
> i truly meant for this to be a short, slightly cleaned edit, i really did. how it turned out this way is anyone's guess, though my headcanon is i'm an idiot and shackled myself to this story's corpse with those fluffy kinky handcuffs. probably exactly what happened.
> 
> sorry for the wait though, i'll try harder next time.


	7. coveted adversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Homs are fed up with being treated like crap, so they take the fight to the Mechon. You’ve played the game you know how that goes. Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update 2020: so yes, if you’ve read the previous 6 chapters, you are now caught up with my stupid perfectionist crap. 
> 
> this chapter is untouched, partly because i don’t despise it as much as the first two were, but it is still longer than i’d really like. one day i’ll work on it but right now? no.

_Chapter Seven - coveted adversary_

The next time that Shulk had a vision, was in the month before the beginning of the battle of Sword Valley. It had been the point at which every Homs colony bar Colony 9 on the Shin, 6 on the thigh and 3 on the Shoulder had been wiped out by the fearsome machines and evacuated. Colony 9 had the advantage of being _so_ low down on the Bionis that it was difficult to even get there by the air without being detected, which was usually where the Mechon attacked from. They had even installed some large anti-air batteries to help protect from any invading air forces. The structure of Colony 6 was not dissimilar to that of Galahad Fortress- it was completely domed off as to protect from above. They also had a long twisting maze of tunnels underneath that linked together a huge ether mine- which was the main source of ether, crystals and the dangerous liquid for the entirety of Bionis. There was less contact with the third Homs Colony due to the fact that it was so high up on the Bionis- but they boasted superior defences hidden behind and amongst towering walls, making it difficult to locate the people that scurried around them. Also insured by behemoth trees, making it difficult for Mechon to navigate the winding paths without smashing into a tree branch.

Representatives of the three settlements all congregated together in the one place that they believed the Mechon wouldn't dare venture. _Inside_ the Bionis, particularly in the Third Lung, by a crack that had opened between Satorl Marsh- the previous site of Colony 5 and Makna Forest- once the mysterious Colony 4. Since the only other way to get between the two was to go through mythical High Entia ruins, the Homs of those colonies created the passageway between them that went through the Bionis.

Shulk, Dunban, Dickson and Vangarre had been the four Homs chosen to represent Colony 9, and so they travelled up the Bionis in some sort of vehicular contraption that had been sent down from Colony 3. They met up with the Colony 6 representatives, a man named Otharon, who seemed to act like the unquestioned leader of the Colony, and would drag the three men named Korton, Gadolt and Satata behind him. Once they reached the misty Satorl Marsh, Shulk felt a wave of unease as he was reminded of the Colony that was lost there and prayed for their happiness beyond the Bionis.

The young mechanic had been surprised to have been chosen to represent the Colony, and Dickson said something along the lines of best researcher of weaponry and Anti-Mechon defences. Shulk had just blushed and noted to himself that it wasn't entirely due to his credit. However, when they ventured inside of the Bionis, he found himself wishing that he hadn't. The interior of the giant immensely grossed him out, as he got the sense that it was still very much alive. The fleshy walls pulsed as if blood was coursing through them, and the snaking cells crunched underneath his shoes as he traipsed through the Terminal Trachea. At times he even thought that he saw some odd purple things floating around, but convinced himself it was a trick of the light. Although his surroundings repulsed him, the wildlife distracted him from it.

Once they arrived in the Third Lung, Dunban and Dickson got into an argument about the yellow liquid pool that lay beyond, and Shulk occupied himself with a small blue mouse that was quivering in the corner. In his attempt to pick it up in squeaked and tried to scamper away, but for whatever reason it moved extremely slow, like it was being weighed down by something. Zanza suggested it might be the high concentration of Ether in the area, which briefly made him wonder whether the Monado would be easier to use here because the frequency of the waves in the atmosphere were more similar. In the wait for Colony 3 to arrive, he pulled out his Collectopaedia and drew a detailed sketch of the slow-motion mouse as it drifted away which helped him record as much as he could down about it. His hypersensitive hearing picked up a dull buzz from above, which then stopped, and was followed by shrieks that got loudest and louder, until Shulk realised that they were coming down the Vertical Trachea.

There had been a big splash, and the yellow liquid splattered everywhere, making those who were affected screech in disgust. Dunban was quicker than lightning and darted out of the way, one hand in the Monado, glaring at the murky pool as if a horde of Mechon were about to leap out of it. It was then that Shulk noticed everybody's apprehension, as blades were drawn and rifles were cocked, lasers pointed at the goop covered figures that were emerging from the pool.

_“They're going to get shot if you don't intervene.”_

The blonde just stalked forward and muttered to those behind him, “It's okay. These are the ones we were waiting for.”

Dunban raised an eyebrow at him, to which he turned around and smiled, resting a hand on the red blade and lowering it down to the floor, controlling the electricity sparking in the process. This didn't go unnoticed by Dunban or Dickson, the former surprised and the latter less surprised but then sported a cocky triumphant smile. Shulk then found it difficult to let it go, but when he did he was brushed rather abrasively by Vangarre who went to yell at the people from Colony 3 for being late, which was what he said- but Shulk could hear his heart racing.

The three colonies then decided on an action plan, all contributing by putting in their own strengths to cover other weaknesses. They then decided that they would get revenge on the Mechon for the mass-slaughter their kind had endured, and decided that the way to do that would be to attack the closest Mechon base to them; Galahad Fortress. Unfortunately this meant they had to leave the Bionis’ body and venture onto the Mechonis itself, having to travel along it’s sword to get there. This also raised the fact that when Homs died on the Mechonis, their ether would not be _returned _to the Bionis- instead would just either dissipate into the air around them, or if worst came to worst, be sucked up by the _Mechonis._ This mention seemed to make Dickson uneasy, but was nothing compared to the loud abrasive lamenting from inside Shulk’s skull. The idea was then raised that if there were many deaths, and the Mechonis was to absorb all the ether, the attack would probably help the opposing race more than hurt. Eventually they reached an impasse and chose to rest for the evening so that they could use more fully functioning brains in the morning.

As he lay down to sleep, the small green Nopon named Satata waddled over to him and sat down beside his leg. Shulk’s eyes drifted over to him, to discover he wasn’t focused on him at all, instead on the Monado that was propped into a circle of rocks. It was quaking as if it were a living being in a freezing cold winter blizzard, and sparking like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. The poor Nopon’s eyes were glazed over, and he was slowly inching towards it. That was one of the many powers of the Monado, it emitted enough ether to attract any being from Bionis to it; but once they touched it, they wouldn’t be able to match its ether wavelength in its ground state, causing it to activate. Even though rarely seen, the stories of the Monado controlling the user were commonplace all over the Bionis, and again- it was used as a deterrent from mothers. Such stories stretch from instant body mutilation of you so much as touch it- and that it would completely manipulate you if you survived to do things that you don’t want to do. Shulk just held his breath, as the small green Nopon basked in its glory.

“The Monado is wonderful sword. It a bright red blade that cut through any Mechon,” He said dreamily, “HomHom lucky to find it to help Bionis.”

The young heir just chuckled slightly and ran his hand down the edge, “It's a mysterious piece of our history for sure. I can't wait to figure out what kind of... power it holds.” The middle-aged Nopon just squealed as Shulk picked up the sword and brought it to the ground, calming the ferocious shuddering and sparking from when Dunban had activated it earlier. He began to subconsciously trace the 'Machine' symbol, a habit he had picked up on and thumbed the helm.

The middle aged inventor must have realised what was happening and slowly backed away from Shulk, and once he was a substantial distance away from the teen he shuddered to speak, voice higher than normal for a Nopon, “No! HomHom no touch Monado! Monado go all bright and mush up HomHom insides!”

To appease him, Shulk rested the blade against a wall and took his hands off of it, holding them up in a surrender motion. This didn’t seem to calm Satata, but he did waddle back to him, face still concerned. Shulk just smiled and sat down next to him, resting his hands on his knees, “Its okay. The Monado doesn’t really hate me that much. I can't control it like Dunban,” He nodded over to where the man was resting, “But I can do more than most when it’s in its ground state.”

The green Nopon looked confused but didn’t ask any more questions, as his eyes began to droop and body started melting into his blanket that Shulk hadn’t noticed he’d laid down on the floor. Leaning uncomfortably against a rather repugnant wall, the blond fluttered his eyelids and held his pounding head-whether his headache had been intensified by the ether or long periods of no sleep, he didn’t know. At that moment he just wanted to do _nothing. _

Fate however, had other ideas- and even though Shulk wasn’t really paying attention to anything, he heard the faint droning of machines from somewhere; the short growl he heard in his head after signalling what the noise was. Jolted awake, he looked around to see everybody completely vulnerable- some asleep and most other with their guards down. Panic arose in his throat, it seemed the Mechon knew where they were, probably heat-seeking tech or something; but didn’t know how to get to them. There was no point in rousing the others; they were so tired they wouldn’t be much help. In a flight of fancy, Shulk grabbed the Monado and hit it against a wall to activate it; terrible idea. He was _almost _there, just a short while maybe- but the Monado still fought against him, sending shocks up his arms, causing him to grunt in pain and excite his muscles as they clenched from the electricity. This caused Shulk to see blue lights dance before his eyes- then shortly after that, similar to the last time he’d tried to activate it, he saw images in his head that were definitely not before his eyes.

A Mechon, looking a cross between black and dark silver with a… face? Its mouth moved, curled up in a ferocious grin but he could hear no words. A flash of sepia and he suddenly saw two people, what looked like an elderly man and young girl, holding each other desperately underneath a looming shadow. He didn’t get a very good look at them- but it was long enough to note the oddity of their clothing, the fairness of their features, and the fact that they both had what seemed to look like white wings sprouting from their skulls. A further flash of light revealed something that Shulk _had _seen before, but it didn’t make him any less surprised. It was the giant creature that had saved him in Tephra Cave, standing over him with a frown on its face. In his peripherals, he could vaguely see some other people, but only those that came to mind were Reyn and Dunban.

All too soon the images had faded away, and the pain that had been wracking his body came back with a full force. The seventeen year old shrieked and flung the sword away from his body again, not hearing the loud clatter of its landing. He fell onto one knee and clutched his right wrist as if it had snapped, trying to discharge himself from his electric overdose. Both of his family figures awoke instantly, startled. It took them both half a second to assess the situation and rush over to him, emotions scribbled all over their faces as if they were drawn by a five year old. If he had known better, the bitter frown on Dickson’s face wouldn’t have carved a hole in his heart as it did, but luckily it was quickly filled in by the fright and genuine concern from Dunban. Both had had their mouths agape, but were interrupted from what they wished to say as there was a piercing screech of metal from somewhere outside the walls.

Despite the pain, Shulk gripped his arm and gasped out, “There’s Mechon… outside in the ruins. I- I wasn’t thinking and I grabbed the Monado again… I'm sorry!”

Luckily for the teen, both adults understood- and Colonel Vangarre who had wearily crept up behind turned to start barking orders to anybody who would listen. The soldier-types all grabbed their weapons and charged in one direction despite not knowing where they were going, but the research-types all shrunk back, not entirely sure what to do. Deciding that their small crowd would struggle against a larger Mechon squadron, the teen gripped his Junk sword and followed in the direction he had seen the others go. When he was released into fresh air again, Shulk was very glad he had done so.

Dunban and Dickson had ripped a hole in the wall which lead to what seemed to be a temple of decayed ruins. There were several Mechon billowing in from the skies above and massing around a beam of light, which Shulk assumed was the Monado Buster. The Mechon weren’t the reason Shulk’s heart stopped though, that was the fact that the scene before his looked all too familiar to him. His slight uncertainty initially had been thrice overridden by Zanza’s shuddered gasp as a tall pillar was sliced in two by the blunt force of a very dead Colony Three soldier. This would be the pillar that Dunban’s dead, mangled body would lie smattered against- from that time he saw it in his first vision four years prior. Despite the abhorrent nature of the sight, it had plagued his dreams, that of night and day, _and it terrified Shulk. _Sudden scary premonitions of how his carer would die in a bloody spectacle didn’t just come and go. Even as he got older, he would have nightmares about the moments before his death, until Shulk was positive how the man would die.

It took him another fifty seconds to realise he knew exactly how this fight was going to play out, and that Dunban was going to lose his life, slain by blunt force trauma to the back of the head from being thrown at a wall. The Mechon to butcher him would be a M82 unit that would have clutched another dead body and tossed it at the man. If he was quick enough he would be able to save him too.

_“While I could care less about the Colony 6 Soldier, I suppose that your depression from losing Dunban would irritate me to no end. My suggestion would be to crush the despicable machine with something heavier than itself, such as one of those marble pillars its next to.”_

The teen then filled in the remaining gaps for himself, by attracting the Mechon’s attention, then hiding behind the pillar, it would attack it-causing it to fall onto the Mechon and crush it. It was a risky plan and any number of variables would end up getting him skewered, but his body had already started sprinting towards the ruckus, fuelled by desperation. Shulk didn’t need to figure out how to snatch its attention of the machine, as the it just turned to him; eyes glowing and attacked. He didn’t know where both Dunban and Dickson were at the time; he hadn’t been looking for them. Dunban had been right behind him apparently, and had felt the need to loudly protest and wave the Monado around frantically as if it were a white flag. Dunban’s screams were drowned out by even louder machinery, but that didn’t stop them from being picked up by Dickson’s heighted hearing.

Laying waste to a M78, he turned abruptly to see his son running circles around a towering unit, closely followed by Dunban in a state of panic. The Mechon was undoubtedly targeting Shulk, and despite the fact that he had trained Shulk up to the best of his ability, he still had a nagging inking that with that junk sword of his and the sheer number of machines- Shulk wouldn’t stand a chance. Dickson contemplated his three options: A. Run over there as he was and try to intervene by drawing its attention, however run the risk of his Homs body being killed in the process. B… Was admittedly really stupid- transform and crush them that way, a guaranteed victory- but would raise far too many questions with dastardly consequences for it to be considered worth it in the end. C. Hope that his Lord Zanza was somewhat consciously able to protect Shulk, even though the fact that he still couldn’t control the Monado actively yet was a very worrying factor?

He didn’t really want to submit to any of them, but not doing anything would end up leaving him in a pile of corpses. The blonde haired shapeshifter grunted and let his subconscious drag him over to the scene in the hopes of doing some damage control. Shulk’s face was hard and determined, though Dickson could smell his fear, and it excited his own. What was his the idiot brat doing? He had been told time and _time _again that his life and safety should be his top priority, yet the boy was always so focused on helping others. Dickson didn’t understand the feeling, he never had bar that of his son-! _vessel- vessel vessel vessel _he corrected himself, as most emotions that Homs felt were beyond him. Worry over Shulk didn’t count in his eyes- as he was only fulfilling his purpose as his Lord’s faithful servant, and the dark feelings that emerged within his chest that were suspiciously close to denial were ignored. Mostly.

“Shulk!” The man had blurted as he raced down to where the eventual heir was pacing, “What in blazes are you doing!? Get out of here, **_now!_**”

Shulk heard his father out of the corner of his ears but ignored him; his plan almost complete. With a swift backflip courtesy of his mandatory labour disguised as training, he landed atop of a pillar, and like the clockwork that Shulk expected to be inside the machine- it attacked the pillar which caused it to topple and crush it to pieces. Both of his familial figures radiated shock, but that was nothing compared to the stream of egotistical triumph that all but erupted from inside his mind.

There wasn’t a word of congratulatory appraise for his host, and instead the God revelled in his own supremacy. Shulk failed to correct him, as a warm feeling had manifested in his stomach as the fact that he had saved Dunban’s life made him feel light and giddy. A small smile grew from his lips but then fell as he swerved away from an attack from another Mechon. It didn’t matter, he’d accomplished when he had needed to do. All of the bigger Mechon had been eliminated, leaving a few stragglers remaining. Once they were swiftly destroyed by the Monado’s blade, Shulk felt two piercing gazes upon him when they began to assess the damage. He didn’t listen to their reprimands though, as the thoughts of having changed the future that had plagued him for years was uplifting his soul; he felt like he could fly to the Bionis’ horn.

In the end, a plan was made to minimise the ether potentially returning to the Mechonis, yet maximise the amount of damage dealt to the Mechon with that aspect bared in mind. The plan had been to provoke the Mechonis’ forces by charging down Sword Valley, then retreating up to the Bionis’ Hand and Valak Mountain- where they would proceed to thin out the numbers of Mechon on Bionis soil.

Or at least that was the _plan _anyway.

* * *

It had been a long and hard fought battle- but in the end, Shulk did _not _end up on the front lines of the Battle of Sword Valley. This fact was decided unanimously by _all_ participating colonies. This was because Dickson, the ridiculously overprotective and sentimental old fart that he was, outright refused to fight for the Homs if his son were to be there too. Dickson’s usefulness on the battlefield was superior to Shulk’s ten-fold, and thus he was flat out banned from leaving the body of the Bionis, through the fear of not having Dickson and therefore not having a chance- and because of the airy rumours that had circulated during preparations from colony nine that nobody wanted to incur the man’s wrath when it came to the protection of his son. If Shulk was staying behind, then Reyn was staying behind too. Fiora had been completely torn between going to help her brother (who would have gone alone if he had to) and protecting Shulk. From what she didn’t say, though joked rather half-heartedly about it being from Reyn’s impatience. She stayed in the end though, much to Vangarre’s dismay, but Dunban was secretly elated his sister wasn’t throwing herself into the jaws of death.

A month later, preparations had been completed- and airships had been fuelled up with stocks of Shulk’s weapons on board. There had been a short ceremony before the army’s departure, in which the seventeen year old trio were given several chaperones by doting guardians so they didn’t go off and get themselves killed while they weren’t there. Zanza had all but scoffed at the _‘contemptuously extravagant death procession’ _and went back to sulking at the loss of all the ether from Hom’s being lost in Sword Valley. Dunban, of course had taken the Monado with him to the great battle, and it left Shulk feeling hollow and without purpose as he twiddled his thumbs in an attempt to listen to Reyn’s half-baked scheme to invade Vangarre’s secret store while he was away. When the blond asked why he hadn’t done it a month ago when the Colonel had been away with him, he got a non-committal response and a crowbar waved in his face. Fiora told him to take his mind off of it by going down to the wreckage sites again to scavenge- something Shulk had a secret passion for that Zanza could never understand.

It had been a particularly sunny day, yet the young adult felt anything but. Lounging in the sweet smelling yet unattended grass, he looked up at the sky and let his mind wander to the battle that his kind was going through. He felt… selfish, that he was just lying down under the sun by a small cove in the safety of the colony, while people he cared about were brutally fighting for their lives just so he could continue to have this moment. Zanza made the usual holier-than-thou remark about being grateful that Homs were laying down their lives for him, but Shulk’s own thoughts were too abuzz for him to pay any attention. All the memories and lessons lead back to the ever-elusive reason that they were fighting at all. He didn’t understand why the Bionis and Mechonis had to be at war in the first place, and made a small wish that all the fighting would stop so that there would be not more needless deaths.

_“Its just the way things are,” _The God murmured, clearly not only Shulk’s thoughts were conflicted, _“The Bionis and Mechonis were destined to fight each other.”_

The blond Homs just sighed and rolled over. Zanza’s words resonated with him until an idea popped up. He then cringed when he fully comprehended what he was about to ask, not entirely sure he could _ever _be ready for the backlash of asking something like that. Boredom overrode his hesitation and it slipped out before he could process it, “Aren’t you supposed to be the soul of the Bionis? Surely you know a bit more than, ‘its just the way things are.’”

Instead of scolding his vessel, the deity just sighed and made a short humming sound, voice slightly bitter as he spoke, _“We weren’t always at war I suppose. At creation, there were moments of peace and harmony between us, though only brief. The inhabitants of both coexisted together, if only for a little while.” _Shulk got a sense of disgust and disdain from his demeanour as Zanza derided, _“What hopeless fools they were, associating with the filth of the Mechonis.”_

Shulk chose not to comment on the beings of the Mechonis actually having consciousness rather than the soulless machines he had become ever so familiar with, and instead took in the fact that there really _was _a time when the world had peace, and wished again for a return to that state. Luckily, Zanza didn’t hear him. Out of many things though, one part confused him the most.

“There… was a creation? An actual beginning to everything and not just some perpetuating existence?”

The murderous intent that suddenly exuded from within the second soul in his body told him that it was a _very _touchy subject, one that Zanza would avoid mentioning until the possible end of time if he could; Shulk understood his stubbornness that much. Instead of the expected silence, the Bionis’ soul began to mumble to himself about what Shulk could only assume was past regrets. He caught nonsensical words such as ‘space’ and ‘idiotic Meyneth’ that went right over his head before the God settled into eluding the subject and telling a different, but equally as interesting tale.

_“Long ago, the world was nothing more than an endless sea, cloaked in a boundless sky… reaching as far as could possibly be imagined.”_

_“Then two titans came into existence. The Bionis… and the Mechonis.”_

He paused, seemingly gathering his memories and quashed down Shulk’s obtuse thoughts of ‘how can titans just come into existence’ and carried on with his tale, voice steady like it was narrating some sort of theatre production. Shulk began to try and picture this in his head.

_“The two were locked in a timeless battle. We…they…” _He sighed again and suddenly the teen felt unsure, but whether the feeling was his or Zanza’s he didn’t know, _“They waged a war that lasted for many a millennia, exchanging precarious sword strikes as if it were nothing but a spar.”_

_“Until…” _Shulk bit back a wince at the neutral, almost dead tone he had, _“Until at last…”_

“Only their lifeless corpses remained,” The mortal finished for the God. He looked up at the blue sky that reflected poorly in his eyes. “But that was… eons. _Eons _ago. The bodies of these titans,” He clenched his fist around a patch of grass and pulled it out, staring at it. The body of the Bionis. “Are what we live upon now.”

_“Correct.”_

“But… now our world… this _vast _land stretching across the remains of the Bionis, is under attack by the relentless force known as the Mechon,” Shulk’s voice mimicked that of the Gods, though was considerably harder than the cool of his companion. No more words were exchanged between the two that day, and Shulk deigned to silence for a short while as he truly began to consider the real mechanics of the world they lived in. Life was peaceful for him, at least on the outside, and that he could be thankful for.

It hadn’t been going too stellar for the Hom’s forces though down on the sword though. The plan of retreating back to the Bionis had been thrown out of the window when about seventy thousand machines came marching out of the secure fortress and rained death upon all those who dared set foot upon their mechanical titan. It had gotten to the point where they were being pushed back themselves due to their own losses of numbers rather than a tactical retreat. Mechon were chewing up the Homs army as if they were food and spitting out the remains to decorate the graveyard they stood upon. And yet Dunban, the miraculous hero of the Homs forged on; hacking and slashing at everything his brown eyes saw, not sparing any pile of scrap a second glance.

He could hear it all, the screams of fallen comrades, and the low-key firing of mobile artillery as it attempted to try and sway the battle they had gone there to win. Bodies lay around him, leaking blood and missing organs, yet he was not swayed from his purpose. The gleaming blue light of the Monado was brighter than ever before, marking for the entire sword to see the man’s location, as the enemy closed in.

Obliterating the nearest squadron like they were bunnit to a blade, he reached the 4th gate and took a moment to catch his breath, sticking the Monado in a clump of armour with no resistance at all. He loved the feeling. Smile not once having left his face, he grinned out ahead into the sea of destruction and abolition.

“They’re advancing down our weak right flank,” He mused, adrenaline his mistress, with teeth clenched in impure excitement and a pulsating right arm. “For a bunch of soulless machines they seem to know a thing or two.”

His smirk could have levelled mountains, “But we’ll see.”

Grasping the red blade as if it were his lifeline, it shone brighter than the ether river that surrounded them as he tore through wave after wave, blood streaking from his lips as he ground his jaws together. He wasn't a psychic like Shulk was, but he could sense the large explosion that was about to shake the ground and ducked behind an upturned artillery unit to try and relieve his dominant arm- which had begun to throb like nobody's business. At this point his squad that maybe perhaps he was meant to have stuck with, caught up and scrambled for cover next to him. Dickson didn’t look out of breath, just marginally annoyed at having been left behind.

“Dunban,” he grouched and shuddered as an ether blast attempted to upturn their protection, “We’ve been given the order to retreat. We’re stopping attacking the Mechon and pulling back the line to Colony Three- as apparently the machines have already made it onto Valak Mountain.” He looked less than pleased about the turn of events; voice still a bit flat and agitation twitching at his lips. He let out a short grunt as they were bombed again, and clenched his sabre tighter, “That’s where we’ll set up the last line of defence.”

The brunet hero’s maniacal grin never wavered as he turned to face his old friend, “Yeah. That’s a good idea. Any more time spent hanging around here… and we’re done for.” Dunban’s own words left a dissatisfactory taste on his tongue, and the distrust on Dickson’s face fuelled his desire to charge. Mumkhar had also seemingly had enough as he abruptly cut in with his scratchy voice.

“Count me in. We’ve gotta get outta here!”

Eagerly, Dunban turned his head to his other wartime buddy and if possible his smile extended wider, the glint in his eye reaching Mumkhar and settling a murky pit of worry in his stomach. “Or, we can stay and fight.”

The blond just rolled his eyes, not surprised in the slightest, and usually would have just acquiesced to Dunban’s inane heroics, but he was at the end of his tether, and lot in the mood for losing to a bunch of machines with no sense of conscious. Mumkhar apparently didn’t know Dunban as well as he claimed and screeched his complains in a loud outburst, followed by an even louder explosion in which they were almost crushed. Seemingly, Dunban didn’t notice and looked the Monado happily, as if he didn’t quite understand the situation he was in.

“We may die if we take a stand here. But staying gives us the chance to change our destinies!” He glanced down, the three men’s eyes instinctively drawn to the divine weapon, “We have the Monado. With this, the future is ours for the taking!” With that, he launched himself up off the ground, and attempted to clamber over the artillery. Dickson couldn’t help the emotions that shot across his face as he stood up and pulled his friend down harshly, meeting his eyes with a fierce expression that Dunban rarely ever saw.

“_Stupid beast!_” He blurted, and then rounded on the Monado wielding madman, “Your body can't take any more of the Monado! I can _tell _by just looking at you.”

Suddenly, Dunban was in Dickson’s face, his infuriating smirk inches from his own frown, “Getting short-sighted in your old age, Dickson?” For once he stopped, only in an attempt to reassure his companion, “I’m fine. Don’t worry, I'm still in control.”

Resignation rocked Dickson’s body as he slumped down and cocked his weapon, half determined not to die so he could see the day when his master returned, half wishing he could stay to ensure the Monado didn’t fall into the enemy’s hands. He sighed, which sounded more like a scoff, letting instinct take over- he was never one for deep thought anyway.

“Should’ve known I couldn’t talk sense into a beast,” he muttered and pulled back the bullet chamber, “Let’s do this. I’m going with you! You’ll need someone to drag your corpse home.”

Dunban just smiled at the familiar sense of security, “As long as you’ve still got the strength in you, old man.” Dickson just huffed, used to it at this point.

Mumkhar looked at the two like they’d just sprouted seven heads. “Oi! We’ve been ordered to pull back! _I'm leaving!”_

But Dunban would not be deterred, “Well I say you’re coming with us,” He said coolly, “What _would _we do without those?”

The bearded and clawed menace growled at Dunban’s enthusiasm if you could call it that, heart _really _not in it, especially when a nearby squad member warned them that the second wave of Mechon was approaching. A shot of resolution hit the three of them, but Mumkhar still looked very unsure. There were often times when he got the sense that Dunban and Dickson had some sort of tight-knit friendship strategy that they rudely excluded him from, despite the fact he had known Dunban much longer than Dickson had. Now felt like one of those times, as they both hauled themselves over their cove rand daringly stared death in the face, cocky words and all. Mumkhar almost laughed at their foolish courage, and secretly hoped they would both get their heads blown off because of how unbelievably reckless they were. His lip curled, he hated them both, especially Dunban.

“It’s now or never Dunban. Let’s show them what we’ve got. We’ll give ‘em a warm Homs-” he choked a little, and steeled his eyes, smile faltering before stringing itself back in place, “-welcome.”

Poor Dunban looked positively insane with glee, “Acknowledged.”

Dickson, for all his emotional naiveté, sensed dark feelings exuding from his clawed companion but turned away, thinking it nothing but fear. Hurtling after Dunban who’d thrown himself into the fray, he thought it in his best interests to ignore Mumkhar, so he could ensure Dunban’s survival. _Why _he so desperately wanted him to survive he didn’t know, and he buried the whatever-they-were in his box called _Shulk’s Fault_, and charged on.

The other brunet watched his two comrades run headlong into enemy territory with disdain in his eyes. “What are they trying to prove?! I'm not throwing my life away! No point in dying in some god-forsaken field…” He grumbled, nevertheless he got out of his crouch and bore down the Mechon’s wave; eyes betraying him. He grimaced, “Tch… nothing for it, I’ll have to use Dunban as a decoy. That should give me some time to escape!” He chuckled to himself ominously, before reluctantly vaulting over and joining his teammates for the last time.

A hoard of M72 and M69 came blustering mindlessly down the strip of metallic earth, red lasers pointing everywhere they eye could see, destruction their only function. As a group of three, Dunban, Dickson and Mumkhar were no short of unstoppable. With Shulk and Dickson’s combined efforts, the Homs had created weapons that could normally damage Mechon, without the use of Monado Enchant. That… didn’t stop Dunban from throwing it up every time he _saw _something that resembled a Mechon and tore over there to slice it to pieces. There were times when Dunban would wonder how on earth Shulk or Zanza (whom he assumed was the primary culprit) could even come up with the recipes for mass death that he did, but after a certain point in the blond kid’s childhood- he’d learnt to stop questioning the boy about the things that he heard.

After slashing through the second wave, Dunban’s arm was throbbing wildly, and Dickson knew it was bad because he had actually stopped to rest it. Teeth gritted in pain, the brunet hunched over, gazing at the ground without focus, not seeing the look of fear that wormed its way onto Mumkhar’s face. He groaned loudly and stumbled back, “Y-you’ve got to be kidding!”

Dickson looked grim, “It’s their main force. Looks like the Mechon are hell-bent on taking us out.”

Through the shooting pains, the Monado-wielding man flexed his dominant arm, furrowing his eyebrows as it twitched without his consent, Mumkhar’s sudden heavy breathing not helping his outlook on the situation, “They’ll have to be if they want to beat us,” his voice was strained and battle-weary, “Now. _Let’s even the odds a little bit!”_

Mumkhar looked around in despair as Dunban re-activated the Monado. With two out of three smiles all but returned, they once again plunged into the next wave of machines. Biting out another Enchant, Dunban almost inhumanely ripped through armour like air, creating a personal pile of scrap that eventually he stood upon, yet he felt no pride. This was because after a much delayed flight, the Monado had decided it’d had enough of the man and electrocuted him harshly, sending shocks that were lethally high in ether concentration up his right arm and down his spine. Finally, no longer able to shoulder the burden, Dunban let out pained cries could have been heard from the fortress stronghold beyond. Body wracking with pain, he fell to his knees- yet his arm muscles had tensed so tightly around the red blade he could no longer let go. It _wanted _to destroy him, and Dunban knew it. He suddenly felt sick, but knew it wouldn’t be vomit that came out of his mouth if he did.

Dickson finished off an M79 unit with a lazy Thunder Flash, when his eyes and ears were drawn to his partner’s cries. He saw as Dunban collapsed, a Mechon came up from behind him, intention- bloody murder. Instinctively, Dickson half screamed his name and flew over, covering the shuddering body with his own. It was only after he felt the pain and blood dripping onto his face that he realised that throwing _yourself _in front of a lethal blow- usually ended up with you getting stabbed instead. Dickson, was not an ordinary Homs however, and shrugged it off; retaliating by firing another round into the machine’s… supposed guts. He _then _realised that the Mechon’s claw was _still in his back _and was blasted away with it. After his landed a few feet away, he scrambled to his feet, “I ain’t going down _that _easily,” he griped and once again scaled the mountain of deactivated rusted bodies to reach his friend, “Dunban! You alright?!”

Dunban’s face was as white as snow; his own blood caked his hair and pupils so small he looked like he didn’t have any at all- lost in his misty chocolate pools of pain. Despite this, the forsaken determination he _breathed _was as clear as ever in his mangled posture. Amidst his body’s revolution- the shuddering electricity and his last hope burning a weak flame, the man stood, using the instrument to his own demise as a crutch.

“What does it look like…? I’m still good to go…!”

Was what he said, but everything else he was told another story. Even his facial expression showed unease and resignation. And _finally, _Dickson understood what Dunban had meant earlier. The brunet was willing to lay down his own life so the Homs could carry on living their peaceful lives. He would never understand it, apart from Lord Zanza and his vessel- the only person Dickson could care less about was himself. Maybe it was the years and years of living as a Homs, in a Homs body, but he felt an odd pain in his chest at this resolution- not dissimilar to when he had found his son- _not his son damn it- _being beaten to death in a cave. He spat it out on the ground- rejecting it from his body. When he saw the despair filled tears that rolled down Dunban’s face- he made his mind up. He’d fight alongside his friend to the very end. With a feeling he once again couldn’t place, he thrust the hero’s arm around his shoulder and guided him back onto solid ground again. Unfortunately, this was the time that Mumkhar had chosen to succumb to his cowardice, as he turned to flee- leaving both Dunban and Dickson feeling very cold.

“I’m getting the _hell _outta here!” His voice was fraught with glee as he chunkily ran from the two comrades. What he didn’t realise was that he was running in the wrong direction, though none of the three soldiers could process that at that point- bloodshed and battles had consumed their brains.

The blond shook with anger, and Dunban looked over at his friend, dejection punched him in the stomach and showed on his face. This just made Dickson ten times more furious, “Mumkhar _you **piece of shit**-!”_

“Oh don’t worry~!” He chuckled madly and waved his claws around with false exuberance, “I’ll organise your fu-ner-als!” He broke off with laughter that resonated deep within the other two’s souls, and hung over their backs like an oppressive shadow. “Well! See ya boys~!”

And he ran off. Dickson feebly cried out, “Wait!” but it fell on deaf ears. Dunban’s enthusiasm had apparently hightailed it away along with Mumkhar, and his resolve to fight was draining fast, suddenly that urge to _actually_ spill his guts sounded a little more appealing. Ever the experienced Dickson was always alert, and though he was still very bitter from the betrayal, his battle senses were refined to impossible levels- and thus he had heard the charged up ether shot coming from a mile away. Instead of jumping out of the way as they would have done several minutes prior- it took all their energy to fall and duck for cover as the explosion hit beside them. The two lay down in the questionable grass, clutching the other like a life-line- trying to ensure the other would stay by them and not desert them and not_ leave_. Dickson was radiating fury, and Dunban was just left feeling a bit hollow, blurred eyes seeing whom he had thought as a comrade- a _friend _run off into the distance. His face crumpled, and his grip on the Monado faltered- and so it lost a bit of its light.

There was no time for reassurance or promises against abandonment when they were inches from death, and slowly- the two sat up shakily and caught a glimpse of what was heading towards them, and they both went _very _numb. A towering M104 fortress unit was emerging from the 3rd gate, not yet having noticed the pair- but definitely would if they continued to lie there. There was no two ways about it, they were utterly screwed, and they both knew it. Dickson’s voice was flat as his suddenly ice-cold blue eyes leered at the enemy, “If this is a joke… it ain't funny.”

Dunban was a man with a lot of feelings, happiness, love, sadness and pain, reckless and insane enthusiasm for killing machines that threatened his home; to name a few- but right then…he just felt nothing. He was utterly depressed that his friend had turned tail and scampered during the heat of battle, leaving him to die- ripped apart by Mechon as they took away the Monado. Humanity’s last hope; in the clutches of the enemy would doom the Bionis, and his heart was screaming out that he didn’t want that, he _couldn’t _let that happen! His anguish must have been an ugly picture because Dickson’s laugh was very hollow as he stared at his comrade absently.

“Don’t beat _yourself _up over that disgusting waste of space’s betrayal Dunban. If there’s any consolation… I never liked him anyway.” The inventor slash soldier just closed his eyes in defeat, no doubt wishing all the best for his son, Dunban thought. He wasn’t entirely wrong either. Dickson wondered if imminent death had somehow given him a bleeding heart and skin thinner than sandpaper, and shook his head. The bearded one just sighed in dismay but didn’t utter a word. Dickson just scoffed, heart pounding but adrenaline completely gone, “Looks like this is it. At least we know our luck can't get any worse from here.”

Voice bitter and laced with self-depreciation and despair, Dunban let out a low chuckle, mind wandering to Fiora with the wonder of what she would be doing right then. Knowing her, either worrying herself into depression or Shulk half to death as a countermeasure. A wave of relief washed over him as the knowledge that she was still alive behind the colony’s defences comforted him. And yet… something struck him like a bolt of lightning- the thunder that followed resounded in his ears deafeningly. If he fell here, then Fiora, Shulk, and even poor Reyn would soon follow- obliterated by the Mechon as they advanced onto the Bionis in their pursuit of destruction. Unadulterated rage tore through his veins like fire and he shot to his feet, rage burning up his eyes and soul. Dickson jumped, eyes weary but still very attentive. No longer fuelled by a desire to kill- but to protect, the Monado shone brighter than ever.

“D-Dunban…” The shapeshifter-in-disguise’s breath caught in his throat, knees shaking and wrists splayed at odd angles. How the man was still conscious he didn’t know.

The hero’s voice was cold and commanding- all traces of enthusiasm gone, and replaced with sheer determination and fury, “Dickson- take care-”

“What are you playing at?!” The old man bellowed, voice high pitched and scratchy, “Don’t you-_don’t you **dare **_go in there by yourself! You’ll _die!_”

Bleak satisfaction filled Dunban’s bones as he looked down at the blond’s seething face, a small smirk pulling at his lips as the other let out a strangled gasp, “I don’t care. If Fiora could go back to living a happy, carefree life like she used to… I will gladly lay down my life.”

“No you won't!” Dickson exploded and hauled himself to his feet, eyes ablaze and temperaments unheard of, “I’m coming with you! I'm not talking no for an answer!”

The two didn’t hear Mumkhar’s screams as he was pelted with bullets over and over and over again, leaving him a bloody mess on the battlefield. They didn’t hear his protests as his body was dragged away, leaving a wonderful line of blood that the two would eventually find later, beginning at his pair of battered claws and left foot that had been left behind.

Staring down the battlefield, Dickson let out a loud roar and charged- fuelled on outrage and the dark desires he never knew he could have. Dunban just smiled, and drew his quaking blade.

“Vile Mechon! If you think the Homs, the _people_ of the Bionis… are just _waiting _here four you to pick us off… You are **_sorely mistaken!”_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s longer than it really deserves to be for being the game’s fucking prologue- but hecky i love this chapter. i’ll slice it up one day, but for now it remains.
> 
> thank you for reading~!


	8. ameliorated trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months after the battle, wounds are still being treated, both on the outside and inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2020: if you saw an update and flicked to the last chapter- i’d advise going back and reading the first six; they’re heavily edited with some new scenes.  
this chapter however is also untouched. this one gets super into trauma from a war, which is a pretty heavy subject. so like, if you’ve been in any wars or can’t stand that sort of shit, exercise caution i guess, idk. it’s also fucking atrociously long, 10,091 words long which is disgusting. disgustening.

_Chapter Eight - ameliorated trauma_

In the end, the Homs had won the battle of Sword Valley or at least in the sense that they had finally gotten the Mechon to retreat their forces further up the Mechonis. However… it hadn’t been without its casualties. Colony Three had been completely annihilated, and all of creatures who had once made home there were dead or living as refugees in either Colony Six or Nine. There had been too many deaths at the hands of the Mechon, and sometimes people would often wonder whether it had been worth it at all. These oppressive thoughts were scorned in society, and were ceremoniously replaced with joyous benedictions that their heroes had valiantly fought to protect them- which was why they were alive today. Initially, Colony Nine had worshipped the ground that Dunban had walked upon, and it wouldn’t be a complete lie to say he hated the attention. It also wasn’t that he didn’t wish to be recognised as the hero who had saved the Homs from all the dastardly Mechon either, it generally just annoyed him that people would treat him differently because of something he had done. Unfortunately, he hadn’t come away from the battle scot-free either- physically or mentally. After a month or so, he began shutting himself up in his house in order to recover, and the people that he would let it numbered on the small side. This worried Fiora immensely, but she had learned to respect the privacy of the males she spent time with and backed down.

Speaking of which, Shulk had become a lot more open since the battle. Instead of procrastinating to the point of laziness in order to do his own research, he had been actively contributing towards the betterment of the Colony by making weapons and armour at a much faster rate. It was hard to believe that somebody like Shulk could have matured as much as he had in just a year, but according to Dunban- he felt guilty about not being able to help in times of need. Dunban had also realised that Shulk had _noticed _his younger sister’s romantic advances, and though he still wasn’t doing anything about them (not that he expected him to) he’d learned to be less brusque on such topics. Both Dunban and Dickson felt an immense pride when they looked at Shulk, acting like a responsible member of the colony, a proper _adult _that others could rely on and respect. Even Reyn had grown a little, having been recently promoted to squad Captain despite Vangarre’s protests. Although Fiora now had a full-time career in caring for her older-brother, she frequently volunteered out of the goodness of her heart to help the homeless and sick by cooking for them (her cooking skills having improved massively) making blankets, and giving small weapons to travellers and foragers who were liable to be attacked. Yes the three had grown up from being small undeveloped children, to mature adults, much to the surprise of everybody around them. Their personalities hadn’t changed at all though, Shulk was still an introvert with major people issues, Reyn still a complete idiot with who didn’t know what limits were, and Fiora hadn’t lost her quick, explosive temper and rather judgemental attitude. That was made them Homs though, nobody was perfect.

It was one of those rare days that Shulk had woken up full of energy and raring to do something. He’d given Dickson seven heart attacks when he flounced down to the kitchen fully-dressed in his red scavenging gear at seven o’clock in the morning. A panicky father had then spent time examining his son to check he hadn’t been replaced overnight. It struck the elder blonde hard when he realised he wasn’t disappointed to find his master had not yet taken over Shulk’s body, to which he had stomped off to re-evaluate himself- something he had been doing a lot recently. Shrugging it off, the young adult had gone for a walk through the colony, with no particular destination in mind. The residents of the colony smiled at him when he walked past. By now, word of both Shulk’s exploits and condition were common-knowledge, and others treated him as such. People didn’t speak to him for no important reason, so there was no need for him to strain himself with conversations he didn’t know how to deal with. He was well and truly happy with his life, as cheesy as it sounded when he thought about it in his head.

Later that morning, he found himself wandering out of the Main Entrance and up the winding path to the Mechon Wreckage Site, a place where many deactivated Mechon were littered around in pieces. He was comfortably alone- nobody had felt like coming up there that day. It was probably because of the weather; the warmest it had been in a while with only a few clouds in sight. Zanza grunted his quarrels with using ‘_those foul machines as armour’ _as usual, yet did not abstain from pointing out how a piezoelectric core unit could be an alternative to mobile artillery or transporter engines. About an hour before he was due back to see Dickson for ‘mandatory lunch because don’t think I haven’t noticed you skipping meals again,’ the blonde moved over to inspect a new scrap pile he could have sworn wasn’t there last week. Such sentiments were forgotten when he discovered what was there.

“A Mechon M71!” He gasped, and Zanza just groaned, crawling on his knees over to it and examining it with his highly sensitive eyes, “I bet I can use its optical system to align one of the anti-air batteries!”

His excitement permeated the air until he turned it over and his face fell, noting the shattered back he scoffed and tossed one half to the side, “No good. It’s broken.”

_“It is?”_

“Yeah, look here, at the point the clutch was supposed to be attached to the volley by- the joint section. Ugh, its buckled,” he dropped it the second it lost its worth to him and rose to his feet out of his crouch into a big stretch, removing the tension from his shoulder blades, “It’s completely-” he mumbled before flopping down on his back and relaxing in the grass, “-useless!”

The God just sighed, apparently not in a very good mood that day. As he lay down with his eyes clamped shut- he felt the sun’s strong beams on his face as it peeked out from behind a small white cloud. A soft buzzing filled his ears, which ceased as what he assumed to be a baby Prairie Dragonfly landed on his elbow. Despite being a short while away from the Colony, he could still smell the familiar delicacy of Georgio’s homemade curry wafting from his ever-popular stall in the Commercial District, mixed with the scent of Sweet Wasabi that grew a little further down the path from where he rested. Light enough that he could barely hear it; he heard footsteps- quick enough to be in a run coming his way. The heaviness combined with how they sunk half a millimetre into the ground because of his combat boots instantly told him that it was Reyn, which caused the blonde to smile and open his eyes gingerly. The sun’s position told him it was around 11, Reyn was probably coming to see him on his break. Turning over slightly, his blue eyes followed the Dragonfly that had shot away at his motion until it once again landed on a piece of green and grey scrap. Shulk blinked. That looked like…

“An M69!” He squealed and vaulted up from his back, legs flailing unattractively. Dashing towards it with new-found resolve, his breath resounded in his ears as he gazed at it almost lovingly- and he heard the God retch in the back of his mind. It was almost as big as he was, and Shulk’s fingers darted over the smooth grooves and found the outer drone socket was empty but the surrounding metal was completely intact if not a little rusty. “It’s armour would be _perfect _for making a shield! If I can-ungh, just get it-off, I should be able to…”

Shulk began viciously pulling at the armour where it had seemingly clumped over something black and stony, and just as it seemed as if it were close to giving way, Zanza suddenly shouted _“Let go!” _The second Shulk’s hands withdrew from it, the armour began to shake and he leapt back in surprise. The thundering footsteps got even louder, until Shulk could hear his best friends rampaging heartbeat.

“Shulk!” Reyn bellowed, Driver out at the ready in its more defensive form and billowed into it with an Art Reyn had _creatively_ called Shield Bash. Shulk hated its execution and was always pestering his friend to change it, but was always met with stubborn refusal. The Mechon flew in the air and clattered against another, legs suddenly sprouting from it as it seemingly mutated. Reyn’s face looked horrified and he took a step back, but Shulk’s eyes just narrowed as his short panic faded; it wasn’t an actual Mechon at all. His auburn haired companion just gritted his teeth and glowered at what he must have thought to be a Mechon, before advancing with the sharp end of his Lancer pointed at it.

“Reyn!” Shulk just bit out, eyes darting between the two, “It’s not a Mechon! Just a Krabble. It was probably using the Mechon armour as a shell.”

Relief hit his friend like a bullet, but he didn’t move from his offensive stance, feet scraping the dirt, and body bent over to protect himself from a sudden lunge attack. Shulk realised this and fell into the same position. Reyn went in for a swing, and he missed by mere centimetres. His left hand let go of his weapon to signal to Shulk to back away, “Get back Shulk, I’ve got this!”

The inventor frowned, instinctive grip on his Junk Sword loosening only slightly. Really, he knew that the soldier didn’t think he was inadequate, far from it in fact, the two would always pair up on seek-and-destroy missions from the force and would go at them as partners. They complimented each other impossibly well, Reyn was big and bulky, able to wear tougher armour that could withstand more hits- and though his damage output definitely wasn’t anything to sneeze at- it didn’t shine as much as Shulk’s did. Shulk was what Mumkhar had ruefully called a ‘glass cannon’ which apparently meant he hits very hard but is incapable of taking too much damage. He was inclined to agree, the blond despised wearing bulky metal chest plates, and they restricted his movements, not to mention that Zanza threw a fit if he ever wore Mechon plated armour.

Decidedly ignoring his friends’ overprotective tendencies, the unsheathed his weapon and slowly tiptoed behind the creature, heart thrumming against its strings. Once it was completely distracted by Reyn, he quickstepped towards it and lifted his arms above his head, bringing the weapon down on the creature’s behind with a mighty Backslash. Reyn, with the ridiculously limited special awareness that he had, toppled _himself _in shock, and looked up at his friend half in wonder and fleeting annoyance. “Thanks mate,” He took Shulk’s outstretched hand and was pulled up onto his feet. With an awkward hand he scratched behind his neck, lips pursed, “I know you got it n’everything but sometimes you… you should really just let me-”

“I’m not made of glass, Reyn,” Shulk smiled reassuringly. He got this very often from those close to him. They seemed to want to protect him more than they valued their _own _safety, particularly Fiora and Dickson, and while it was flattering- it irritated Shulk because he cared for his family just as much as they cared for him.

“I know I know. It’s just… ever since your accident when we were ten, I realised that you were, like, something I needed to protect ‘cause of how important you were to me and stuff,” Reyn’s face was a little red and he started pulling at his almost-ginger locks with nerves, “Like when you were in the hospice and stuff I kinda figured out that like, I needed to get stronger to help protect you, so you should just...” he trailed off.

Shulk’s toes felt warm at his best friend’s words, and his smile grew more heartfelt. Reyn’s friendship was one of the most valuable bonds that he had, and he felt blessed that he was able to have something so wonderful.

“A-anyway! What were you doing wandering off by yourself?! Stay where I can keep an eye on you. Heh, then I wouldn’t_ need_ to keep on protecting you,” Reyn chided, but Shulk just laughed instead of feeling ashamed or berated.

“Yeah maybe,” The blonde’s white teeth could have blinded Reyn with how much he was smiling, “But thanks to you, we got its shell! Everybody in the Colony’s gonna be really happy!”

Poor Reyn’s heart faltered at Shulk’s exuberance, somehow- seeing Shulk happy like this made _him _feel happy also. He’d asked Fiora if she felt the same way too, and she said yes so it was all good. To him, Shulk was Reyn’s closest person. His parents both dead, raised in the orphanage, and with a loud boisterous personality to boot- Reyn didn’t have many friends when he was younger. It wasn’t until Shulk arrived in the Colony that Reyn learned that happiness was indeed an emotion too, and although Shulk’s personality was the polar opposite of his- the two formed a strong, unbreakable bond and stuck to each other like an adhesive sturdier than glue. Though Fiora had been more physical about it, when Shulk was in his coma seven or so years prior, Reyn had been crushed. The soldier-to-be struggled immensely without his little blond crutch to support him throughout every decision, and he realised how insignificant he was as a person in the world that they lived in- deep thoughts for someone like _him_. Shulk’s absence in his life for _two whole weeks _suddenly showed him how useless he was by himself, but also that the hole that Shulk had left behind in his heart _hurt_. Since then, he had devoted his life towards protecting those he cared about- because he never wanted to have to feel that feeling of despair again.

“I guess…but-! I'm more worried about you than this shell,” He forced out, feeling a little hot as Shulk’s overjoyed gaze landed on him and rubbed a finger under his nose and sniffed, “Ah… whatever. Know-knowing what you’re like at least you’ll make a great weapon out of it, like this.” He clenched his left fist and trailed a grubby hand down his weapon with care and ardour in his fingertips. “This Scrap Driver is by far the best thing you’ve ever made.”

If Reyn had been looking at Shulk, he would have seen the boy’s slight flush at the over exaggerated compliment and averted gaze in content. “Th-thank you.”

“It’s true! I bet ya anything one day you’ll make a weapon on _par_ with the Monado!”

Shulk’s smile wobbled, as he braced for impact. Abruptly, Zanza awoke from his nap and send a wave of killing intent towards Reyn that he wouldn’t be able to feel, causing Shulk to flinch a little. For some reason that Shulk had yet to figure out, Zanza acted like the Monado actually _was _the divine sword that the Bionis used all those millennia ago. Obviously it wasn’t, because it was utterly tiny in comparison to the Bionis’ enormous body and that it would be completely infeasible for it to be used in such a conflict. Usually Shulk feared thinking these thoughts, but Zanza was too angry to pay any attention to him.

_“Impudent proletarian fool! My Monado could **never **be matched; it is a divine weapon capable of eradicating the entire Mechonis, and by my hand…”_

Zanza’s rants usually went on for a while, though Shulk was used to it at this point, and tuned him out in order to frown at Reyn who had unwillingly become the meaning for his pain, and made a non-committal grunt, accompanied with a lip-nibble to express his unease. Seeing that, Reyn swallowed harshly and turned away, hands on hips, “A-anyway, we’d better get back. If I'm late for drills again old ‘Square-Tache’ will actually kill me.”

Unease ebbing away, Shulk’s smile returned as he paced up to his friend’s side, “He is pretty scary. Doesn’t yell at me that bad though.”

Reyn scoffed, daring to look back at the blue eyed boy again, “Fegh, tell me about it. You only get _‘special treatment’” _he mocked with air quotes, “‘cause your Dickson’s son. If you weren’t he’d rip inta ya ‘cause you don’t bloody show up half the time.”

They both laughed and fell back into their relaxed conversation as they raced back to the Main Gate, dodging slash killing bunnits and caterpiles on their way. As the sturdy steel gates came into view, Shulk couldn’t help but admire the Colony he had lived in and sworn to protect with his life- as with all the people he cared about in it. Once they breached the habitual area, they slowed to a walk, Reyn making an offhand comment about Dunban’s house being too close to the ether light for the man’s sanity. Shulk started eyeing up the merchant’s stall when Reyn stopped.

“Right. Here we are, hagggh, I think I’d better stop in at HQ before I lose my head,” He sighed and looked in the direction of the Military District with clear pain on his face, so much so that even oblivious-to-his-grave Shulk rubbed his hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “You off to the Lab then?”

Shulk nodded, “Yeah. I need to sell some of this stuff though, I’ve got enough M42 exoskeletons back home to make my _own_.”

Chuckling, the auburn haired boy swung his legs over the railing and grinned at Shulk, who was now struggling to hold all of his parts as he staggered in the direction of the shop, “All right. See you later!” He called, and with that he was gone.

Shulk spent perhaps a little longer than he should have selling his scrap and going over the wares of the merchants, and reluctantly bought himself a new pair of shoes- noticing that the ones he was currently wearing were worn a bit thin. He then proceeded to buy a pair of goggles that he’d seen Reyn looking at the other day and pondered over a pair of nine cuffs when Sonia, the lovely woman bless her heart, lightly tapped him on the shoulder. He looked over at her, and she reminded him that he was expected back at his home for lunch, which she strongly advised he go do. The blond had thanked her, but told her not to worry because he had been carefully watching the time, to which she replied with a question of the time and pointed to her bare wrist. Realisation dawned on him and he let out an undignified squeak and made haste to the other side of the Colony, only stopping to catch his breath when he arrived at the Fortress Gate. There he saw Colonel Vangarre savagely punishing two very put out and scared soldiers with (currently) just his words alone.

“YOU IDIOTS! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT?!” The blonde grimaced and shut his eyes in prayer, _‘Uh-oh. The Colonel’s gonna explode._’ He began tiptoeing around the corner of the District with his back against the wall, hoping to avoid confrontation. Fortunately the furious man’s attention was completely taken up by the two bumbling soldiers in front of him. “Crashing the mobile artillery into a house?! _How long have you been in the force?!”_

The soldiers mumbled something in reply, but Vangarre was _not _done with his rant, “I don’t want any excuses! Champions don’t whine, they win!” They proceeded to have a rather one-sided discussion on how the mobile artillery had crashed in the Residential District and there were no more ether cylinders to fill it up to move it back. This just got the Colonel blisteringly red in the face and he spat on the ground next to the two who flinched violently, “I told you to keep a stock of fuel in reserve!”

After apologies were mumbled, the moustachioed man lost it and punched the closest soldier to him square in the face. By this time, Shulk had inched his way to the Lab’s entrance and winced, face a smile of sympathy. “Same old Colonel,” he muttered to himself with a sigh, “At this rate, our soldiers will all be dead before they see any action.” He backed into the building, and felt an internal stirring at his own words. “Ah. So are you finally finished sulking?”

Zanza was still rather irritated, and really didn’t seem in the mood to be reprimanded about how his one-track-mind made him shallow, _“Do not seek to castigate me today, boy. You would do well to learn your place.”_

That was not a good sign. The self-proclaimed God had been acting off all day, but this was the final nail in the coffin. Shulk understood his mannerisms well enough, but their relationship (if you could call it that) had gotten to the point where they called the other by name, not by nouns. The fact that Zanza was even exerting his status when only _slightly _provoked meant that something other than Shulk was bothering him. Again, that was never good.

“What did you see?” Shulk hissed under his breath. Zanza had told Shulk of his own visions, and rarely ever shared them, as most of the time they were very vague or unrelated to Shulk himself. Other times though, such as Dunban’s demise the month before Sword Valley, were absolutely essential to the survival of those Shulk cared about, thus important to him. They showed exactly what was going to happen in the future and then he could formulate a plan to change it. He couldn’t do anything if not told beforehand.

The blond God scowled and decided to play the long game, _“I have seen nothing of importance. Cease your ridiculous-”_

“Don’t bullshit me.” Shulk swore, mood depreciating to darker levels and he slowly walked down the stairs, “You have seen something that you don’t like, and it’s affecting me now because of it. Either spill it or stop moping.”

_“Perhaps I have done. Either way, I cannot show you without a large ether flow to your brain. So unless you decide to start using the Monado as your **gardening tool**,” _The God still seemed sour about Reyn’s comment earlier that day, _“Then you are to stop your badgering.”_

“You know why I can't do that,” The inventor growled, stopping his angry pacing in front of the Monado itself. For once, just seeing it didn’t lift his mood, yet he still gazed down on its shiny hilt. Hands firmly glued to his sides, he all but glared down at whatever was in front of him as his own thoughts were stealing him from reality. Luckily, just as he had started to sway, he heard a different voice.

“Can't do what?”

Shulk span around to see Dickson lounged on Shulk’s desk, haphazardly reading through the very intensely detailed Monado research notes he had left there. By the looks of it, it was research into the fourth layer of glass that was slightly tinted yellow if you looked at it in the right light and how it was connected to the rest of the blade. Immediately, his anger melted at the sight of his father, and the good old Shulk smile was back as he took a step towards him, “Dickson!” He’d said happily, “Oh! Uh, it’s nothing. I’m just uh- talking to myself about the Monado again.”

Dickson smirked, and doing so made the year old scar next to his lip twinge but he ignored it. He was always happy to see Shulk happy to see him, a feeling that had once plagued him as a negative- yet now after many hardships he deemed an unescapable feeling he couldn’t deny. He’d waved the papers in his hand at his son, and then leaned forward to examine the boy instinctively, “All right,” He nodded, “How are you holding up after your morning in the scrap yard?”

“Just fine!” He lied easily, earning himself an angered sneer from Zanza, “I see you’ve been reading my notes again.”

“You _have _been busy. I must say this research is much further along than it was last time, and_ last time_ we’d finally deciphered the meaning of the symbol that appeared during the Monado Buster.” He chuckled and stood up from the desk, then meandered over with one hand on his hip, the other outstretched to give their joint notes back to their rightful owner. His face tightened as he stood over the blade for the fifth time since Sword Valley. Just seeing it brought back memories he rather wished to forget, and he subconsciously brought up his hand to trace his scar- which then caused him to flinch from the slight pain.

Dunban hadn’t been the only one who’d been affected by the battle a year prior. Although Dickson was a clearly superior being with boundless intelligence and experience of the world, he couldn’t help the feelings that would emerge in him when he thought back to that fight. Mumkhar’s betrayal had hit him pretty hard, hard enough that he had been ready to rip the man limb from limb for what he had done to him and his partner, and he got small satisfaction in knowing the man’s pusillanimity hadn’t gotten him very far. On their way back from their victory as the last two survivors of the front line, they came across a set of claws they instantly recognised lying in a very large pool of blood that was beginning to crust over- showing how old it was. If Dickson had to make a guess with how far away it was, the snivelling rat hadn’t lasted two minutes before he’d been slaughtered. Their thoughts were confirmed when they found his leg a little further away- though they were a little sceptical because the rest of him was nowhere to be found. In fact, the amount of bodies that they _had_ found were a little on the short side, which confused Dickson to no end. Their ether _hadn’t _been given to Mechonis- he had figured that much out- yet Homs carcasses were about as a common sight on the sword as living ones. He’d liked to have taken it as a fact that they just simply didn’t _lose_ that many people, but he knew it wasn’t that easy.

No, it had been Dunban’s unbeatable resolve to protect those close to him, which had truly shaken Dickson to his core. Even completely beaten down- half paralysed by the Monado and coughing up his own oesophagus, the man would smile unwaveringly and forge on, even at the cost of himself. He didn’t die, _thank Zanza _but he had completely lost the use of his dominant arm, which had numerous dark scars carved all the way up to his neck. Once they had made it back to the Bionis’ finger, the hero had collapsed and stopped breathing for about ten minutes. Dickson may, or may not have killed a Homs in a dangerously mortal bout of anxiety, and the sheer relief he had felt when Dunban woke up had been completely immeasurable. During the long suffering flight back to the Colony, Dickson had had his head in his hands, trying to understand all these ridiculous feelings. Dickson was Zanza’s disciple! He didn’t _have _feelings! He didn’t even know what they were, how was he supposed to… Thoughts like that consumed him, and he wasn’t broken out of them until he felt Dunban’s hand on his knee.

His battle partner was a Homs, that much was clear; it ran through his blood and was evident in his soul- which burned brightly behind his deep brown eyes. Therefore his feelings of happiness and recklessness and sadness and hurt, showed on his face and body when he felt them. Dickson picked upon these and acted accordingly, he now had developed an even better method of doing so with Dunban than with Shulk. When Dunban was happy, he could feel it too- wanting to perpetuate such an action that had caused it. When he was sad, he wanted to destroy the thing that made him sad. When he had been feeling hurt and pained because the man whom they had both thought of as their friend’s had betrayed them, he wanted to smile and comfort Dunban and then go and make sure Mumkhar’s death was slow and excruciating and very _very bloody_. He’d finally learned that these feelings would cause him agony to ignore, so he decided to embrace them, and not keep his pain bottled up inside. Since then, whilst he was still dealing with… other things around the Bionis, he had made an effort into his bonds with Dunban and Shulk- and the inside pain would go away. The outside would stay, but would be considerably lessened.

Shulk could tell that Dickson had been thinking about Sword Valley again, and looked at the ground guiltily. His thoughts too, went back to the day that the force had come back from the fight. Only two of the five pods had come back from the battle, and it dismayed him to remember that the second had been full of rotting corpses to return to the Bionis. He’d almost dropped dead when he saw Dunban being lifted out on a stretcher, and his body had been rooted to the spot- unable to move a single muscle. Fiora had screamed and dashed forwards, physically shoving others out of her way until she was leaning over her brother. Before he knew it, the blond had also run to his hero’s side and soon they were both shouting tearfully in his ears.

“Don’t look like that,” He had said weakly, “I haven’t gone yet.” He had beckoned Shulk to him and muttered in his ear. What he had said had been something so shocking that he had backed away from the stretcher; ears ringing with unspoken words and other’s outlandish screams. Blue eyes were then drawn to the Monado, which had been tossed in the corner without a thought, blue eyes growing wide as the meaning of his words sunk in. It had taken him the rest of the day to fully process what he had been told, and even then he had been reluctant to do anything about it. Even a year on, the brunet’s words still resonated inside his skull- louder at times than his living companion.

“It was the Monado that did this. It was… controlling me. Even so… It saved us… saved our future…” He had closed his eyes and sighed, “I’d say that it is up to you now to wield it… but I don’t want what happened to me happening to you.”

Shulk squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, wishing he could forget everything that had happened that day. Though he had not stopped researching the Monado with every second of his free time, his fear of the aftereffects of using it kept him from trying to make it usable to others. Both Dickson and Dunban seemed to be certain that next it would be Shulk to be the one controlling the Monado- which the blond didn’t understand since every attempt of his to use it had ended in painful failure. It scared him, that the blade had such freakish power, and would destroy him if he used it, used it to protect his home and the ones loved. Thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, he sighed.

Dickson sensed the heavy atmosphere was beginning to strangle his son, and stomped his foot to clear the air, and drawing all the attention to his person. “Come on then! Let’s get some food in ya. I bet you didn’t have any breakfast this morning did you?”

Shulk’s ears turned red and he shrank into his jacket, turning away to place the day’s yield on his workbench. This resulted in a hearty laugh from Dickson, who came over and rested a hand on the younger’s shoulder affectionately, before taking in the state of the boy’s desk. “This place is a tip Shulk, it’s a wonder how you ever get anything done here,” He flicked a piece of metal with his index finger, forcefully enough to make it roll over, “Yet you do so much work that the colony would be completely helpless without you.”

“That’s not true at all!” The inventor cried in protest, “Compared to you I don’t do half as much.”

Dickson’s voice was flat, “Don’t even begin to try and pin this on me, these days I'm out and about securing our allies and connections, alongside collecting resources. I spend much less of my time here than you do.”

The poor boy looked so red he could have passed out from a blood rush, but he didn’t say anything.

The old man just sighed in defeat, “Shulk, you’re spending too much time in the lab! Either that or rummaging for junk in the scrap yard like you were today. It ain’t healthy for a kid your age! It’s why you’re always looking so pasty.” Shulk just gasped indignantly, and bent over in shame, poking his face like it was about to fall apart from Vitamin D deficiency. Dickson just raised his eyebrows and closed his eyes, “You should go out and get some fresh air.”

“I just _had _some fresh air!” Shulk wailed. He might be eighteen now, but when his buttons were pushed he reverted right back to his ten year old roots, “And besides, you were going to cook me dinner weren’t you?”

“It’s Wednesday, remember. Fiora cooks all up Katsu Curry on Wednesdays.”

The younger blond’s face lit up, but then fell as he met his father’s condescending gaze, “Oh no, you don’t. From now on it’s your day off. That does not mean going round to Dunban’s house for lunch, it means going outside for a break. Go on, _off you go! _I’ll get Fiora to come and give you some later.”

Shulk groaned at his father’s triumphant smirk, dropped everything he was holding and trudged out the door in a pretend strop. Walking beside him until they reached the doors, the elder blond just shook his head, mentioning how he had to drop in at HQ; so they both went their separate ways. Shulk just sighed, and headed towards the only place he could think of to relax.

* * *

On the other side of the Colony, Dunban lay crooked on his bed, cradling his burden of a right arm. He’d been awake for half an hour at most, and was just finished with his morning exercises in his attempt to get the feeling back in his fingertips, but to no avail. Sighing heavily, he leant back against his pillow, face screwed up with aching pains. He couldn’t help it; the Monado had done such a number on him there were times the _entire_ right side of his body would send him shocks of pain. It also didn’t help that every single time he felt the familiar spikes of discomfort, he would be reminded of the event in which he got them. He let out a low hiss as he fell back into the reality of the battle that had saved all the Homs, yet he wished he could forget with all his heart.

Dunban wasn’t stupid. He knew where his weaknesses lied and that they all seemed to revolve around emotions and feelings of care, nurture and protection of those he loved. Indeed, the great hero of the Homs’ crippling flaw was that he cared and loved his family and friends, far _far _too much for it to be healthy for a soldier like him. The brunet was more than willing to give his own life towards saving the colony and keeping those special to him safe. These thoughts of unwavering loyalty to his sister Fiora, battle partner Dickson, basically-his-son Shulk and his friend Reyn that he’d grown rather fond of… they kept him fighting through thick and thin, blood and gore and death surrounding him be damned. If it was in the way of his family, they would be cut down, no matter what or who they were. Of course, he _realised _that if anybody with a brain learned this and threatened his family to get to him, he’d be useless. His important people, meant more to him than anything else, and it worried him that he would maybe sacrifice too much to ensure their health and safety, when they clearly wouldn’t want him to go so far for them. Just the thought of a threat against his sister made dark feelings swirl in his chest.

This, was maybe why he reacted to mentions of Sword Valley so badly, as well as being tortured by his own mind whenever he moved or even looked at his right arm. In that fight, he had lost somebody who he had deemed a friend. Not only that, but that person had outright _betrayed _him, left him bloody and broken on the battlefield and scampered, desperate to save their own skin. Their cowardly actions formed different emotions within him, a blisteringly hot white rage that perhaps only existed to mask his sadness and sorrow- a hollow and empty pit in his heart that just hurt whenever he saw the remnants of what he had before. That person had been a huge part of his life, a comrade from an early age, but foremost- a friend. A close friend, him and Dickson had seen the worst of Dunban- indicating the trust that he had left in that person. That person, who had taken that trust, spat on it and scattered it across the battlefield along with his blood and brains.

Mumkhar. Dunban and Mumkhar had been born barely days from each other, yet the fact that Dunban grew up with parents and Mumkhar had not set them apart. They had seen each other at school every so often, and he would even go as far to say that they had been mild acquaintances. It wasn’t until they had both enrolled in the Defence Military Force that they had worked together. The two of them would often be paired up to work in unison, and for the most part- they would succeed. That… was an understatement- they excelled to the point where a man who was fourteen years older than them began to work with them; Dickson. Mumkhar was a brilliant warrior, his skill with claws and fighting style had been second to none, _bar_ none the best claw user alive. He had been a truly honourable man, and had put the survival of others before himself, albeit a bit unreliable when it got down to the grit and dirt. Mumkhar had even become comfortable with Dunban, to the point in which he told him about his home colony, Colony Eight. Eight had been the second colony to have been lost to the Mechon, and stories of its worthless and easy defeat had reached Nine in an unfavourable light. Survivors that had relocated were scorned as pathetic, even poor Mumkhar, who had been only two at the time and had lost his parents in the attack. Surely, Mumkhar’s childhood had been fraught with suffering.

Then, when they had turned sixteen, Dickson had come back from an expedition with a young blond haired child whom he had later adopted and named Shulk, and the legendary Monado. Mumkhar had ben instantly captivated by it, yet the process in choosing its successor had been a long gruelling procedure that had not resulted in Mumkhar’s favour. Indeed, it had been Dunban, who had been delegated by the colony to train and wield the blade that destroyed anybody that used it- yet was able to cut through Mechon armour like nothing. Even Dunban had seen Mumkhar’s fury at being second best so somebody who had stood as an equal to him his whole life. Even with this knowledge the three continued to fight together. This, Dunban supposed was how Mumkhar’s hatred of him deepened- with each consecutive use of the Monado, so close but yet so far.

Mumkhar’s betrayal had hit him right in his weakness; the desertion of a person he cared about on the battlefield had ripped out a piece of his heart and taken it with him. However, it hadn’t quite died; there was a small inkling of hope inside the brunet that Mumkhar was still breathing because his body was never found… well most of it anyway. Yet, he knew he was being optimistic- because there had been many Homs bodies missing not just his old comrade’s. He couldn’t even begin to fathom why they had vanished, and wondered darkly whether the Mechon were taking them for any reason- nothing that he could think of. He seemingly hadn’t been the only one of their team affected- Dickson had changed since the battle, and not necessarily in a completely bad way either. He had let down his walls, and began engaging with those close to him, the odd estranged feeling that he always felt from Dickson had faded- and Dunban knew why. Yet, mentions of Mumkhar turned the man murderous, and would release a jumble of cruel slurs before changing the subject. Whether either of them found joy in his death, they didn’t know- but from then on it had been a silent agreement to never speak of him again.

“Dunban, are you awake yet?” Fiora’s maturing voice floated up the stairs, jolting the brunet out of his reverie. His smile was small as he rested his arm on a pillow and looked over at the stairs, hearing light footsteps and the smell of warm food growing stronger. She walked up the wooden stairs carrying her Wednesday regular, Katsu Curry that was still steaming hot, the delightful scent that emanated from it just made him smile wider.

“Is it lunchtime already? You didn’t have to bring it up, you could have just called me and we’d all eat together at the table,” His tone was always light when it came to his sister, he could never bring himself to scold her- it hurt would _him _more than he could hurt her. The golden blonde just placed the tray down on the bedside table and smiled at her brother. If there was one striking resemblance he two had- it was their loving smile.

“Reyn is busy today, so I've put his in the fridge,” She spoke softly and leaned against the bedside, before rolling her eyes, “And you know Shulk won’t ever get here on time unless Dickson drags him by the ear.”

Dunban just chuckled and reached out for the plate with his damaged arm, eyebrows knitted together in a way that only his sister could suss out the meaning. Fiora just narrowed her eyes, and stood from her kneel, “No, don’t- stop you’re just hurting yourself. Here, do you want me to help you again,” She fussed, the sharp mothering edge to her tone made the man retract his arm and rest it again. He sighed and looked over at his sister wearily.

“I need to at least try to move it, otherwise it’ll snap from absence of use when I roll over while I sleep,” The brunet reminded her, to which she sighed; disheartened and dropped her head into his sheets. “You remember the plan I got from the physio, you insisted on going after all.” She just groaned softly and rolled her head so she could see the piece of paper stuck to his wardrobe door; a detailed plan of gradually bringing his arm back into daily use and making sure he doesn’t damage it even more. It had been plotted by the last physiotherapist alive on the Bionis- a lovely woman who came down from Colony Six as a thank you for saving all of their lives. Of course Dunban went beyond the limits of the plan as his self-motivation to better himself to protect his family was through the roof; Fiora didn’t need to know _that _though.

“Yeah, yeah,” She muttered with a sigh. Her shining optimism shone through though as she brightened up, “Though thanks to it, you’re much better than you were a year ago. You left the house last week and went to the Military district again for the first time in months! That shows dedication and improvement!”

Dunban just laughed, as Fiora shuffled up onto her brother’s bed and leant into him, careful not to touch any scarred or darkened skin as her mind wandered, “Thank the Bionis you’ve had a miraculous recovery.” This brought Fiora back to that day. The day when the ships flew over the colony like some sort of victory lap and gave her hope before landing in the Military District. She could have sworn that more ships had left, but she hadn’t even been sleeping out of worry- so her mind was probably playing tricks on her. As instinctively as breathing, the blonde’s legs had darted to where they had landed to see if her- to _see _her dearest brother and congratulate them of their success in destroying all the Mechon. Unfortunately- it seemed that the girl had deluded herself into believing that would be the outcome of Dunban’s long absence, and her heart had dropped when she witnessed the chaos that had descended upon the colony. The long term effects of survivors and the dead had lasted until this day, but nothing could be compared to the immediate aftermath and quick recovery. Screaming, shouting, crying, wailing and the sobs of widows saturated the atmosphere of the colony as everybody was either moving to help those injured or lying lifeless in the large mountain of corpses she could see to her left. It made her sick, that the once living flesh of men had been piled precariously on top of each other, and how frantic women were carelessly tossing them aside as they delved deeper into the decay- searching for the remains of their other half.

Gingerly, she walked over to the heap, noting that the mound of carcasses was larger than the amount of survivors. Fingers shaking and sweat dripping down her forehead Fiora gulped and bent down to carefully move a legless soldier away from her, and then immediately dropped it when she saw that the back of their head was _missing_. Not being able to draw her quaking green eyes away- she assessed the damage, their brains were half-gone, half shrivelled black and mangled together with blood in the cracks in the man’s shattered skull. All of the poor soldier’s wounds were crusted over, and the foul smelling pus that was leaking viscously from his chest made her head spin faster. His legs had been sliced clean off- pieces of metal were still protruding from them, and there was a large hole ripped in his abdomen- her chest lurched when she clearly saw a tattered and torn lung- and the frayed tubes that connected to his centre showed that his heart had been brutally ripped from his chest. The blonde had shrieked wildly, and then the corpse had rolled over to reveal the face of Joe. Good old dependable Joe, he’d been the guy who had forged her trusty knives last winter. He had also lent her his coat to walk back home in after it had started to rain, and smiled softly before going back to making dinner for his husband and two children. Fiora barely made it to the corner of the room before she threw up, the tears having started falling down her cheeks long ago. She couldn’t even touch anything after that, not even stopping to comfort an elderly woman as she wept for her son, cradling his disembodied head.

Despair had settled in her being, and she sank to the ground- knees bathed in days-old blood and stared absently at the stained stone floor. Usually her mind was a flurry of thoughts, but at that moment it was just blank. She didn’t know what to feel, so nothingness settled in her bones until she faintly felt a light shove. Shulk had materialised next to the female and was shaking her wildly, calling her name with tears in his blue eyes. They had wept together until they’d brought out Dunban’s stretcher.

Seeing the cold empty shells of those she had kind of known held nothing to the broken and battered and bruised and _alive _form of her elder brother. The hero of the Homs looked mere inches from death, breathing laboured, voice hoarse and strained, blood seeping through so many bandages he looked like he’d been mummified already. Fiora lost all sense of mind as she tore her way to him and screamed at her brother, screamed at him that he would be okay and that he would be fine and that he would be okay and that he would always always always be okay…

Those memories made her cry, even now- curled up against her breathing and _okay _sibling, who was definitely not sneaking out to practice sword fighting with his left arm after hours, or exercising in his sleep or not sticking to the plan to help him get better. He just wanted him to be safe, she wanted him _here _where he could be with her always and okay and fine and _alive. _

The elder sibling heard the younger’s sobs and rocked her gently, left hand brushing through her golden locks, “Now now, don’t cry. Everything’s going to be alright, you hear me? Look at me,” His voice was almost a whisper, and she looked at him, green eyes brimming with tears, “I’m here, right now, and I'm not going anywhere.”

It barely soothed her, and she clutched his healthy arm tightly, head in the hero’s chest- barely stifling her quiet sobs, “I-I hate that stupid sword,” Her voice was pained and listless, and she brought her tousled hair away from his skin- eyes shut tight, “I-I wish you hadn’t used it that time in Sword Valley!”

Fiora knew she was being selfish, and that she probably wouldn’t be _alive _if Dunban hadn’t fought off the Mechon with the Monado- along with Dickson as he would often add, and neither would the rest of the Bionis’ creatures. When she put it into perspective, what her brother had done was beyond the call of duty, and he hadn’t even died- only lost his right arm and the confidence to leave the house. So really, Fiora was really lucky and was just complaining about how life wasn’t fair- when it had been all but benevolent towards her while still upholding the laws of causality and reality. Those thoughts were far from her mind though, when she saw Dunban’s tortured arm, or saw him grimace in pain because of it. It just made her furious, but sad at the same time.

Dunban also understood that his sister’s words- while only half-true, were fuelled by grief and compunction- it didn’t mean she was lying though. With maybe the exception of Shulk, and maybe Reyn if brogs started flying, Fiora was the same as Dunban with that she would undoubtedly subdue any threats towards her brother- and the betterment of his health would be of the utmost priority…at whatever the cost. Not wanting to be a hypocrite- nor start up an argument that he wouldn’t have the heart to attempt to win, the man just closed his brown eyes and drummed his fingers against the bedsheets. This lulled the girl into a sense of security and she sighed before getting up, face resigned as she looked over at the no-longer steaming bowl.

“Sorry, I did it again didn’t I…?”

Fiora’s smile was weak, but somehow she pulled a sense of sanguinity out of the depths of her bubbly personality, softly slapped her brother round the temple, “Not another word, I was being a total idiot,” She grinned unwaveringly, “More importantly- eat up before it gets cold!”

The tension forged of sadness and regret dissipated as Dunban reclined back against the headboard, a knowing smile curving on his lips, “It seems our guests never showed up. You should go and make a delivery before he falls asleep in the lab again.”

She just scoffed as she turned- yet her smile still burned brightly, “If he hasn’t already.” Her voice radiated confidence, yet her stance still expressed signs of concern as her green eyes swirled with worry for her brother. Not one to miss a pin drop, the man just moved into a comfortable eating position and smiled warmly.

“I’m fine Fiora. Off you go.”

“Okay,” The carer muttered, defeated and made way toward the stairs when stopped and turned back briefly to thank her brother before heading down to the kitchen area and boxing up two portions of food. Once she was done, she heard a quiet clatter of metal from upstairs, but resisted her motherly urges to check up on him again, she wasn’t obsessed- just overly worried to the point of compulsion. Clutching warm cloth between her fingers- she headed out the door- only to be confronted with one of the people she had been heading out to see.

“Hey, Fiora!” Said the bandana wearing blond, who took a step back to let her walk out, “Sorry I’m late.”

“Dickson!” Her voice was happy, and her eyes raked the man’s surroundings in search for a certain son of his she may have feelings for. “Oh! You’re… alone.”

The old man just barked out a laugh, the overprotective urges of Fiora’s _painfully obvious _infatuation with Shulk had worn off years ago when he figured out himself that Shulk hadn’t twigged on her unsubtle flirts. Either Shulk didn’t understand what it meant to have crushes and such love (Dickson wouldn’t be surprised because the boy’s contacts were limited- and _Dickson himself _hadn’t known what it was until about five years prior) or he _did_ know but was evading the situation because he was too kind to break her heart. Or he was scared that Dunban would then feed his innards to the Piranhax if he ever did so. Dickson tried not to think about it.

“That wouldn’t happen to be lunch in there would it?” He motioned to the wrapped up parcels that she had in each hand. The girl just blushed a little and gave him a tight-lipped smile with her averted gaze and nodded.

“Yeah, I was just going to go up to the lab, I’d figured Shulk had nodded off again or something,” The emerald eyed girl chuckled sweetly, before promptly holding out one of them for him, “Here. Since you’ve come all this way- just go and eat it inside. I’ll go and give this to Shulk.”

The shapeshifter just raised his eyebrows, “It’s not _that _far to the military district- oh but don’t bother, Shulk’s not there right now.”

Unable to keep her surprise from her face, her eyebrows knitted together, “Really?” She asked, cynical.

“That boy of mine spends his life in that lab. From today on its officially his day off and he’s not doing any more work on pain of death.” The man joked, as he brimmed with unadulterated pride as Fiora laughed, “I told him _not _to come here and to go out and relax for a while. You know where he’ll be.”

Fiora did know. Since a certain incident, Shulk had avoided Tephra Cave like the plague- and so the only place that he ever spent any time outside would be Outlook Park. The golden blonde beamed as she remembered all of the good times that the three of them would have there, the memories fond in her heart. They didn’t get to go together very often anymore, because they were all grown up adults with commitments, yet when they did it would always be reminiscent of what she had before. Luckily, Reyn was working- so she had Shulk all to herself. Dickson studied her face and grinned.

“Bring yourself a picnic blanket to enjoy your date even more,” The old man teased, and the eighteen year old boiled vermilion. “I’ll keep your brother company while you enjoy your time with your boyfriend.” The words came out light, yet tasted salty on his tongue, and his smile teetered as he sauntered inside. If it had been anyone else Fiora would have beaten them within an inch of their lives, but the old man had already slipped into her house, leaving her to brew in her own embarrassment. Ignoring his advice, she flounced off out the front gate and made her way to Outlook Park.

Upon his bed, Dunban struggled himself upright and fumbled for the spoon his sister had left on the side, but a sharp pain caused it to fall from his grasp. As the metal clattered to the ground, he sighed and leaned over- eyes closed and deep in thought. He loved Fiora with every fibre of his existence, and everything she said was just product of her overprotectiveness to keep him safe, even he could agree he was a bit reckless sometimes. Maybe once he should listen to her, and not go overboard every time- and then when he showed signs of improvement she could finally be happy with him. From the bottom of his heart- his desire was to make her happy, and protect her from any harm. This extended to the colony that they loved and all those inside of it. He was torn between working to make that happen, yet the subterfuge of this being the Monado which could only make all this possible at a very heavy price.

The familiar old creaking of the stairs resounded through his bedroom, and the brunet looked up, wondering if his sister had forgotten something, only to see his old battle friend- shifting from one hip to another with an odd expression on his face. Something was bothering Dickson, Dunban could see it sewn in his figure all the way down to his bone marrow, yet his infallible shield of trauma suppression peppered his skin like bruises and prevented anybody from getting in. Yet as all bodies did with time, small cracks had begun to appear in said shield- taken form as battle scars, some of which were visible on the surface, and others carved deep into his heart. Dickson never let trifling matters bother him, he never even acknowledged their existence half the time, he just waved them off and they magically went away until it turned into a bigger issue. Nonetheless the blond’s face was screwed up is such a way that Dunban couldn’t hope to decipher what was bothering him.

Never the one to admit emotion though, the elder man just sighed, “You’re looking well, Dunban.”

Dunban was sure that he was _not _looking well at all, probably very worse for wear- but he supposed the last time he had seen Dickson had been well over a month ago, despite them living about 300 feet away from each other. A lazy grin crawled upon his face before he could stop it, “Not doing too bad yourself, old man.”

The inventor chuckled lowly before placing his lunch beside his friends’ on the table, before all but throwing himself on the chair like he had been standing for centuries. It didn’t escape the hero’s attention that he was completely avoiding his gaze; looking anywhere but at him. At that moment to Dickson, Dunban resembled the Sun, bright, blinding, powerful enough to be worshipped yet you can't look at it for too long or you would suffer some lasting damage. Dickson found it very difficult to look at Dunban’s torn and tattered body without a black flame igniting in his eternal soul, threatening to burn out his eyes and streak down his face as what Homs usually referred to as ‘tears’. Dickson still struggled with understanding emotions, thus his confusion between anger at what had happened and what could only be described as guilt irritated him. He was past the point of repressing the common emotions, yet the ugly ones like sadness and regret still bleated obnoxiously in the back of his brain in situations like this one. Still images of Dunban’s mangled body inundated his mind, and he would often choke on nothing when he remembered.

Neither had it in them to bring up the proverbial elephant in the room that the two had been evading for a year now, and it was like being in the other’s presence like this suddenly opened up their wounds and placed them right back on the battlefield- certain death by the name of M104 fortress unit looming over them as fear wracked both their brains, a hopeless burst of insanity being the deciding factor of their worlds’ fate. That last swing had exploded the nerves in Dunban’s arm and rotted them black; withered and useless. Dickson had been the only one there; he could have stopped Dunban from ruining his future and done something himself. But he hadn’t. He had been frozen, engulfed in dread and was spread eagle on the metallic crusted earth fully ready to accept his fate with Dunban at his side. After the initial numbness had worn off, reality hit them both harder than mobile artillery- and the after effects of being the only two survivors of the attacking force manifested all at once. Dunban isolated himself from everyone, confined himself to his home and had his ferocious sister act as his carer and bodyguard. A year on and he was definitely showing signs of recovery, but his physical state was akin to steel shackles that bound his wrists to his bedside, and his mind into the past. Dickson had also retreated inwards, but chose to ignore everything rather than confront it head on like Dunban. The hero could tell it was destroying Dickson on the inside.

In order to quash any unwanted emotions, Dickson turned his had away to look at the blank wall, face blasé and voice not yet betraying him, “I sent Fiora to go’n and see Shulk; I sent him out for a bit.”

Dunban smiled and looked down at his toes, wiggling them a bit, “Ah, good. She’s been cooped up in here for a while, it’d be nice for them both to get some fresh air.” An almost sympathetic look shaped his eyes as he chewed his tongue over his next words, “She really likes him.”

Dickson wasn’t sure how to reply, so deigned to remain silent. Instead, he unwrapped his meal and eyed the still bubbling meat warily like it had been poisoned; he had never been one for strong flavours and spices- but knew Dunban would give him ‘the look’ if he showed anything other than rapture at tasting his sister’s cooking so he shoved it down his throat with a smile. Dunban’s face radiated happiness as he savoured his food, no doubt thinking of Fiora with every mouthful. The blond just gulped, “Shulk’ll like this. He’s fond of this herb… what’s it called- Fire Pepper or something we got way back when.”

Fondness danced in Dunban’s eyes like a different shade of brown, “I’m sure he will. He’ll eat anything if Fiora makes it.”

Dickson snorted, “Not _anything. _Don’t you remember the Cool Potato salad she made about two years ago. She tricked him into thinkin’ it was a fruit or something to try and get his to eat vegetables. I don’t think I've ever seen his face look so repulsed in my life.”

The hero finished and set his place aside, “Alright, except vegetables. He used to eat Fiora’s for a while, but at some point grew a backbone and refused them. He gets it from you, you know, so it’s all your fault that Shulk’s diet is so unhealthy. You should have made him eat them as a kid.”

“I tried, I know what’s healthy, but even at four he would toss them back in my face and demand something sweeter.” The man unconsciously began to fiddle with his bandana, a sign Dunban understood as worry, “There’s nothing I can do, and he won't even listen to me anymore.”

“I guess old habits die hard,” Dunban chuckled.

The two fell back into their relaxed banter they had been missing over the past year, and the unspoken tension seemed to dissipate until a relaxed comforting sensation filled their toes. Every once in a while, their eyes would flicker to the picture resting on the table, but no words were spoken about any feelings that might come with it. After a year of stunted silence, the two men began to reach out to others in a moment of peace, happiness and calm.

The calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trauma sucks. it effects everyone in different ways- and unfortunately as we all know, its about to get a whole lot worse. or is it? i don’t even know myself i actually have three plans for what happens next and they all lead to vastly different stories. so. i guess time will tell. time can suck my ass though it’s october now apparently? like where the fuck did the year go- i would like to speak with 2020’s manager.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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